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1 

* 



HER TANGLES AND TRIUMPHS 



KATE TANNATT WOODS 

AUTHOR OF “six LITTLE REBELS,” “ DR. DICK,” “ OUT AND ABOUT,” 
BTC., ETC. 



LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BOSTON 



Copyright, 1896, 

BY 

Lothrop Publishing Company. 


All rights reserved. 


TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, 


BOSTON. 


“ If every one will mend one^ 
The woi'ld will be mended!' 








PREFACE. 


Come with me to Tangletown, my dear 
friends, young and old, boys and girls, fa- 
thers and mothers ; we have journeyed to- 
gether for many years, and the companion- 
ship has been precious, to one, at least. 

Tangletown is not far away ; it is at your 
very doors. You can look into it from 
your windows, and brighten it by your pres- 
ence at any time. Let us each grasp one 
thread of this wondrous tangle, and work 
on, until we unravel the great and compli- 
cated knot sometimes called “ Social Prob- 
lems ; ” to us they will be simply known as 
“Tangles.” Come; a little child shall lead 
us, and the end will be Peace. 

Faithfully your friend, 

KATE TANNATT WOODS. 


Salem, Mass., 1896. 


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CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. Mopsy at Home 9 

II. The New Boarder 22 

III. A Transformation • 36 

IV. Mopsy as Guardian 46 

V. Natty tries Travel 57 

VI. The Dead Mother’s Legacy 70 

VII. In the Public Garden 81 

VIII. The Lawyer’s Wife 92 

IX. The Missing Letter 103 

X. A Wealthy Invalid 114 

XL The Crisis 124 

XII. “Like That of the Dead” 134 

XIII. Husband and Wife 144 

XIV. Beacon Street and the North End . . 153 

XV. Hearts and Diamonds 163 

XVI. The Assault 172 


7 


8 


Contents 


Chapter Page 

XVII. How Far to the Kingdom 182 

XVIII. The Telegram 192 

XIX. Isa 203 

XX. A Farewell Letter 217 

XXI. The Lawyer’s Deep Sorrow .... 222 

XXII. Mopsy is called Away 231 

XXIII . Hannah Sweeton 239 

XXIV. One End of the Tangle 249 

XXV. Mopsy’s Promise 258 

XXVI. Bessie’s Preserver 268 

XXVII. Memories 278 

XXVIII. Mopsy hears the Story of Isa . . . 288 

XXIX. Seeking and seeking 298 

XXX. The Mystery solved 308 

XXXI. Another Corner of the Kingdom . . 320 


MOPSY. 


CHAPTER I. 

MOPSY AT HOME. 

“ When the floor is scrubbed you may 
come in, Natty ; and not before.” 

“ But I tell you that I have a posy for 
mother. A man dropped it in the street. 
I picked it up and washed it off, and it’s a 
beauty.” 

“ Give it to me through the door-crack, 
then, and run away like a good boy until 
the floor is too dry for tracking. Natty 
dear, if you can have the good luck to 
pick up some more pennies by selling pa- 
pers, please do ; and you shall buy mother 
a small glass of jelly all yourself, and I 
will not have to leave her this evening.” 


9 


lO Mopsy. 

“ The boarders will be coming soon, 
Mopsy,” expostulated the boy, who was 
quite determined to have his way. 

“ Never mind. You go and sell some 
papers, and get back in time for supper.” 

The speaker was a young girl of fourteen, 
with a marvellous head of beautiful light 
hair, which contrasted strangely with her 
dark eyes and long, drooping, almost black 
lashes. 

She was very simply, even poorly, dressed. 
She was on her knees, scrubbing the floor 
of a large room, where a dozen or more 
wooden chairs were piled up in one corner, 
and two long pine tables were pushed 
against the wall. Opening from this room 
was a smaller one, with a bed and a 
lounge in it, a few chairs, and a small 
table covered with work. 

Before the bed stood a rude but tidy 
screen covered with gay cretonne, and 
from behind this screen came a woman’s 
gentle voice, asking, — 


Mopsy at Home. 


1 1 


“ What did Natty want, dear ? ” 

“ He brought you a flower, mother,” 
said the girl; “and I have put it in this 
empty bottle. See; it is a beauty, — a real 
Japonica, and fresh too. I will put it on 
the little shelf, where you can see it with- 
out turning your head.” 

“Thank you, daughter. Did Natty go 
out again ? ” 

“Yes, mother; I made him. My floor is 
wet, and Natty’s old shoes bring in such 
a lot of mud.” 

“ Keep the child in all you can, my 
dear ; he meets strange people outside, and 
the boy is easily influenced. It is always 
hard for him to say ‘ No.’ ” 

Mopsy sighed as she turned away and 
resumed her work. Something she had 
heard in church confirmed her own feel- 
ing, that good-nature was not a virtue if 
it made one so amiable that a positive 
“ No ” could not be said against tempta- 
tion. The dear invalid mother was always 


12 


Mopsy. 


making excuses for Natty ; he was her 
baby, her pet, and also her constant care 
and anxiety. 

Mopsy saw what was right and proper 
by instinct ; but Natty blundered into mis- 
chief constantly. 

The girl was too busy to spend much 
time in sighing ; for it was nearly time for 
tea, and the boarders would soon come 
trooping in, tired and hungry. She dried 
the floor carefully, put the long tables in 
place, and covered them with strips of white 
cloth. She was a young housekeeper, and 
yet a tidy one. “ The white cloth,” she 
had said to her mother, “ can be washed 
and boiled, and always be kept sweet and 
clean ; and you know that is your rule, 
mother dear, — cleanliness and care, no 
matter how poor.” 

After the scrubbing was over, Mopsy 
made her own simple toilet, — a clean ging- 
ham gown, with a new white apron, and 
her beautiful hair fastened with a knot of 


Mopsy at Home. 13 

ribbon. Some of the boarders were sure 
to remember Mopsy’s hair-ribbons. While 
she dressed, a savory beef stew boiled and 
bubbled on the stove which stood in one 
corner of the large room. 

“ How lovely your hair is, my child ! ” 
said Mrs. Howard, as she watched her 
daughter from the bed; “it covers you 
like a cloak, when you let it fall. No 
wonder the boarders have nicknamed you 
‘ Mopsy.’ ” 

“ Not for its want of care, mother,” said 
the girl ; “ but I have half a mind to sell 
it to the barber on the next block. He is 
always teasing me for it, and he will pay 
me enough to buy you the wheel chair 
which you need so much. If you only 
would consent, mother dear ; for it is so 
warm and uncomfortable during these warm 
spring days.” 

“ No, no, my little Netta,” said the 
mother ; “ I am fond of the golden locks. 
They may bring you a fortune some day ; 


H 


Mopsy, 


and the invalid’s chair would be worth 
very little to me, since we have only two 
rooms to move about in.” 

“ And my boarders fill up every nook 
twice a day. Wasn’t it a happy thought, 
mother ? Now you can feel sure of the 
rent, every week ; Natty can be kept in 
school ; and, rough as some of the men are, 
they are always gentle and kind to me. 
There is another one coming, a man from 
the ‘ Lighting Works.’ They say he is 
quite a gentleman ; he wants to take his 
meals here to be handy to his business 
and to look after the men better ; he will 
be sure to keep the rest in order, if 
they need it.” 

“ They never do, child, when the screen 
is put aside, and they see me lying here. 
The roughest man has a kind heart hidden 
away, if we can only find it.” 

“ O mother, did you see the little fellow 
they call ‘ Spud ’ look at you, last night ? 
He had never seen you before ; and he 


Mopsy at Home, 


15 


thought you were dead, for you had closed 
your eyes, and your face was so white. It 
was one of your bad days yesterday, dear; 
but this shall be a good one.” 

“Where does Spud belong, daughter?” 

“I do not know. He came in with the 
tall boy who works in the harness-shop. 
Natty says he hasn’t any mother ; only 
a father who goes off on a spree very 
often, and then beats the little fellow.” 

“ This is a hard, hard neighborhood for 
you, my sweet girl. Think of our living 
in a crowded tenement-house at the North 
End ! It seems like a cruel dream to me ; 
and, sometimes, I think it will all come out 
right in the morning. It must come some 
morning, if we can only be patient, and 
wait for the dawning.” 

The invalid closed her eyes, and seemed 
to be sleeping ; but her child knew better. 
Young as she was, Mopsy had already 
learned that she must be the burden-bearer 
for the family; and her cheerful spirit often 


i6 


Mopsy, 


sustained her mother, who could not avoid 
thinking of the past. 

“ Well, mamma dear,” said the girl, “ here 
we are, and just now it is night, and I must 
ring my bell for Natty, and put clean towels 
over the hall sink for the men, and then 
make some dumplings for my stew. How 
nice it all is to know how to cook, and to 
have you right here to tell me if I go 
wrong! Did you hear what Jim Lahey said 
about my bread to-day, mother?” 

“No, dear; was the bread good?” 

“Jim said I must have learned to make 
it of an Irish cook, for it was the finest he 
had ever tasted. I wanted to tell him that 
my lady mother had taught me; but I re- 
membered what you had said about never 
being free in speech or manner with any 
of them, and so I merely said, ‘ Thank 
you.’ ” 

“ Are both of the long tables full now, 
Netta ? ” 

“Yes, mother; and no place for Natty; 


Mopsy at Home, 


17 


so he helps me wait. And Mrs. Gaffney in 
No. 8, she said she would come in any 
time to help, for a plate of soup ; and 1 think 
I must ask her, for the boys are all so 
hungry, and it is hard getting the tea and 
stew at once, for so many ; and it makes 
it hard to collect the money, too, before 
they go out. I wish I had more hands 
and more feet.” 

“ Netta, you must have Natty help you 
more ; let him stand at the coffee and tea, 
and pour for you.” 

“ Oh, you precious dear ! he could never 
do it ; he would fill the cups too full, and 
slop on my floor. Mrs. Gaffney will do 
better, mother ; and I have a fine plan. 
Yesterday, I asked the man at the grocery 
store if he would sell me a large dry-goods 
box ; and he said, ‘ If you want to set up 
housekaping, indade I will, miss.’ So I told 
him you were sick, and I wanted to make 
a kind of table of it for mugs and cups for 
my boarders ; and then he looked sharp at 


i8 


Mopsy. 


me for a minute, and said, ‘Oh, ho! so 
you are the foreign lady’s little girl that 
keeps a hot cup of tay and a dish of soup 
for thim as kin pay fer it. Well, good luck 
to yer, miss. The size of that box ye like 
would bring me a good price ; but seeing 
it’s yerself, ye shall have it for twinty cents, 
and I’ll put it above the stairs fer ye meself.’ 
So I bought another one, a small one ; and 
that is to be here by the side of your bed. 
I will cover it with your shawl, and you 
shall be our cashier, and take the money, 
as the ladies do in the fine eating-houses up 
town. Does that please you, mother dear? ” 

“ I shall be glad to do it, Netta, and thank 
you for your thoughtfulness ; I shall not 
grieve then over being so helpless.” 

“ Helpless ? Why, you dear precious 
mother ! you keep all the accounts, make 
our clothes, and mend them, hear our les- 
sons, and ” — 

“ But, my love, I am still unable to walk 
one step,” said the invalid. 


Mopsy at Home. 


19 


“ Who could walk with a back injured 
like yours?” asked Mopsy. “Why, you 
dear thing, the best of all my help comes 
from seeing you so calm and patient ; but 
here comes Natty, and now we must get 
the mugs and table in order.” 

Natty, a good-looking boy of twelve, 
entered and whistled, as he went straight 
to his mother’s bedside. 

“ Wasn’t that a real out-and-out beauty 
for a posy, mother?” 

“ It was,’ indeed, my boy; but I feel sorry 
for the loser. I thank you for thinking of 
me ; now go and help sister ; for she works 
far too hard. Help her all you can. Natty.” 

“ I always do ; she needn’t complain,” 
said the boy. 

“She has not complained, — she never 
does ; but she works very hard to keep you 
in school. If it were not for her, we 
might starve.” 

“ I wouldn’t,” said Natty with boyish 
bluntness ; “ no sir ! Why, I just won eight 


20 


Mopsy. 


marbles and two alleys from a boy, and then 
I sold one of the best ones, and bought 
some buns at the bakeshop.” 

“Did you bring the buns home?” 

“ No, of course not ; I ate them up. 
You won’t catch me starving.” 

“ Natty dear, I wish you would think of 
others sometimes.” 

“I can’t when I am hungry; and that’s 
all the time. You see, I am growing now, 
and I’m always empty inside — as empty as 
a tin can.” 

“Natty dear, please remember one thing 
at least, and that is, to speak correctly. 
You are fast learning the rough manners 
and speech of the boys about here.” 

“ Why, mother ; I couldn’t begin to talk 
as these North Enders do ! You should 
hear them. It’s two swears to one plain 
word, nearly always.” 

“Oh, my boy! I do not wish to hear 
them ; it makes me wretched to think that 
you must be among them.” 


Mopsy at Home. 


21 


In an instant the boy’s arms were about 
her neck. “ She sha’n’t be wretched. She’s 
a dear little sick mother ; and next time 
her bad Natty will bring her home a bun ; 
poor little marmy dear.” 

A few tears fell on the boy’s face, and the 
sick woman was comforted. Surely nothing 
could seriously harm Natty while he could 
love her so. Natty’s caresses always si- 
lenced reproof. 

He was growing more and more careless 
daily. His selfishness was apparent to 
every one but his doting mother ; and 
Mopsy mourned over it in secret. Very 
often, she performed Natty’s tasks and her 
own, rather than quarrel with him, lest her 
mother should be disturbed. 

Mrs. Howard, like too many mothers, was 
not wise enough to see the difference be- 
tween the real affection which labors un- 
ceasingly for the loved ones, and the 
impulsive demonstration which covers a 
selfish heart. 


22 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW BOARDER. 

“Did you get mother’s jelly?” asked 
Mopsy as her brother came from her 
mother’s room looking pleased and tidy. 

His mother had combed his hair with her 
thin, delicate hands, and Natty always en- 
joyed having his hair dressed. He was a 
peculiar boy, and found a special delight in 
being waited upon. He had the faculty of 
making his playmates serve him ; and, like 
most selfish people, he accepted all their 
attentions with slight thanks. Now and 
then, some bright boy would rebel, and 
utter an emphatic, “ Do it yourself ; ” but, 
generally, his coaxing ways overcame all 
objections, and Natty obtained whatever 
he set his heart upon. Selfish people 
are found out sooner or later, and they 


The New Boarder. 


23 


seldom hold the love of others for a lone 
time. 

“ Did you get mother’s jelly ? ” repeated 
Mopsy, when she found that her question 
was not answered. 

“ No ; my banker objected,” said Natty. 

“Didn’t you sell any papers?” 

“ Not a paper.” 

“ O Natty, I’m so sorry ; for I prom- 
ised mother a bit of toast and jelly to- 
night, she is so tired of everything ; and 
now I cannot get out for it.” 

“ I’ll go,” said a little piping voice. 

Mopsy was so surprised she let some of 
the flour and water she was mixing, fall 
upon her clean floor. 

“I’ll go, miss, in a jiffy; just say what 
kind she likes best. Old Mammy Dixy has 
tip-top ; she makes it her own self.” The 
speaker was little Spud. Mopsy looked at 
Natty, but that worthy was serenely whis- 
tling as he laid the knives upon the table, 
unconscious of jelly or any other duty. 


24 


Mopsy. 


“I do not like to trouble you,” said 
Mopsy; “but mother eats so little.” 

“ I know,” said the boy in a half-whisper ; 
“ it ain’t the leastest bit of trouble, and it 
would make me feel better. You see, I 
didn’t always do everything I might have 
done for her, and now I can’t sleep for 
thinking about it ; she’s dead, you know, 
and I can^t get her back. Just you give 
me the chink, miss, and I’ll have it here 
before the men come in ; I’d love to.” 

There was no doubting the little fellow’s 
earnestness. Mopsy gave her bowl of 
thickening to Mrs. Gaffney, and went into 
the next room. She soon returned with 
some change, which she gave Spud, saying 
in a low tone, “ A small glass of currant, 
please ; she likes that, and mother is par- 
ticular about her food, she eats so very, 
very little.” 

“All right,” said Spud, and away he 
darted. Natty resolutely avoided looking 
at his sister. He knew he had done wrong. 


The New Boarder'. 


25 


but he did not care. His mother would 
not know, for Mopsy carefully kept all little 
worries from her ; and as to Mopsy, why, 
she could only look sorry, while Natty was 
fast forgetting the tenderness of heart which 
had once made him sorry for others. He 
did not utter a word, until a tramping was 
heard upon the stairs, and several men 
and boys came up and washed themselves 
at the sink in the hall. They came in 
quietly, and took their places ; some from 
the Lighting Works, some from the coal- 
yard near by, some from wretched homes, 
but all bearing the price of a good hot 
supper in their hands. 

They were mostly young men, save one, 
the new man from the Works, — “A boss,” 
some of them said ; and yet none of them 
quite knew. He was a tall, broad-shoul- 
dered man, with a long brown mustache, 
and clear blue eyes which seemed to see 
everything all at once. 

He was greatly surprised when he saw 


26 


Mopsy. 


Mopsy, and he was pleased to observe the 
politeness with which all addressed her. 

Jim Lahey had told him that a man could 
get a good plate of honest beef soup, some 
bread, and a cup of tea or coffee for ten 
cents, and the cooking good enough for a 
priest. The gentleman did not give any 
name nor introduce himself. He bowed to 
Mopsy, and took the seat she assigned him. 
He was evidently much pleased with the 
perfect neatness of the small apartment. 
Every plate had a large slice of bread be- 
side it in addition to the knife and fork 
and spoon ; also a large mug filled with 
steaming tea or coffee, according to the 
taste of the boarder. It was very difficult 
to serve so many rapidly ; but all ate with 
an appetite which the invalid in the bed 
near by envied, if her tender heart ever 
quite knew the meaning of envy. 

Mrs. Gaffney and Natty and Mopsy 
had all they could do for a little while. 
When their hunger was satisfied the men 


The Nevj Boarder. 


27 


and boys joked each other, and lingered a 
little, quite reluctant to leave such a com- 
fortable spot. To some of them it was a 
paradise. Just before the meal was over 
Mrs. Gaffney rapped upon the table with a 
large spoon. 

“Whist now, lads!” said Jim Lahey. 
“ Wait a bit till Mother Gaffney slings some 
good Irish at you.” 

“ That’s more than ye can do yerself, 
Jim,” retorted Mrs. Gaffney; “but it’s not 
the likes of me to speak, but the young 
lady herself.” 

Instantly every voice was hushed, and 
every eye was turned toward Mopsy, who 
stood, rosier than ever, near the window. 

“ I only wanted to say, young gentle- 
men,” — she always called them young gen- 
tlemen, and it sounded well to many of 
them, who had never heard themselves ad- 
dressed as anything but “you fellows” or 
“rough” boys, — “I wanted to say,” said 
Mopsy in a clear, sweet voice, “ that here- 


28 


Mopsy. 


after you will please pay the cashier as 
you go out at the other door ; and I hope 
you will be kind enough to step softly. 
Mamma will be our cashier. I want to thank 
some of you, too, for bringing me so many 
new boarders. Next week, we hope to 
have another table here by the windows, 
with plates for six ; but no one can come 
in who will not sign our rules. Most of 
you know them: No tobacco, no loud or 
coarse talking, no profanity, no untidy 
hands or uncombed hair. We are all poor 
here ; but we can all be tidy, kind, and 
good-natured. One thing more ; if any of 
you can bring a little sister to wait upon 
the table, I will be glad to pay her for 
her help.” 

A dozen hands were raised at once. 
Evidently, many of the boys had sisters 
who would be only too happy to step into 
such a home. For some reason, Mopsy 
saw a little thin hand at the far end of the 
table, and she asked in a kind and encour- 


The New Boarder, 


29 


aging tone, “ How old is your little sister, 
Spud ? ” 

“ My twin, miss; but a deal brighter and 
smarter.” 

“ Does she go to school ? ” 

Yes, miss, when she has shoes.” 

“ Then bring her here, and she shall 
earn some shoes, and go to school.” 

Spud’s eyes sparkled, and Mopsy was 
not slow to see the look of disappointment 
on the faces of the other boys who had 
raised their hands. 

“ I only need one little helper now, 
boys,” she said; “and I will try this little 
girl first, because Spud has been kind to 
my sick mother.” 

“Good for little Spud,” said kind-hearted 
Jim Lahey, as he rose and led the way 
to the cashier’s table in the next room. 

Lords and ladies, and fine society belles 
and beaux, may know all the rules of 
etiquette ever written ; but I question 
much if any of them ever felt a finer 


30 


Mopsy. 


sense of the respectful proprieties of life than 
these rough working boys and men as they 
stepped softly into that chamber of suffering. 

The screen had been turned away ; and 
on the white quilt, spotless enough for a 
palace, was a little tray of foreign work- 
manship, where each laid his offering and 
passed out. The new-comer, already termed 
“the boss” by the boys, went last, hardly 
daring to turn his eyes towards the face, 
which he felt must be that of a lady. He 
hesitated, attempted to speak, gave one 
quick glance at the fine head resting upon 
the pillow, and laid down his money with- 
out a word. 

The moment he reached the sidewalk 
below, he caught Lahey by the arm, and 
exclaimed, “Who are these people? Can 
you tell me ? ” 

“ Born ladies, as you can see, sir,” said 
Lahey. 

“Has the mother always been there — 
in this way, I mean ? ” 


The New Boarder. 


31 


“ Devil a bit do I know ! Miss Mopsy 
started into this thing more than two years 
ago with just Mose and me, and she’s 
supporting them all now.” 

“Did you ever speak to the mother?” 
asked the stranger. 

“ Spake to her ? Bless you, man ! whin 
we first went there she talked to us, and 
said some of the powerfullest things I 
ever heard, not excepting his riverence. 
Father Connolly, who can talk at you till 
you feel as wake and mane as a licked 
puppy.” 

“ See here, Lahey ; that tray on her bed 
is of foreign manufacture ; I have seen 
such in Turkey.” 

“ That’s not surprising, sir, seein’ that 
America is free to Turks as well as the 
likes of us ; but how came your honor in 
Turkey?” 

“That’s neither here nor there, my man. 
I choose to be here just now, and 
although I may have been a fool in my 


32 


Mopsy. 


time, I am wise enough to know good 
people when I see them. Tell me who 
helped Mopsy, as you call her.” 

“ We always call her Ahss Mopsy, sir.” 

“ Quite right, Lahey, quite right ; but 
who gave Miss Mopsy her start ? Who 
found the capital to get the dishes and 
the necessary things ? ” 

“ Well, sir, it’s little help she ever had 
save for her own hands, and her mother’s 
head to think for her. Miss Mopsy is old 
for her years, like all of us who have to 
fight our way. As near as I can tell, it 
was this way. There had been a lot of 
talk about cooking-schools, and so on ; 
and one day Miss Mopsy went to a class 
they had at the Industrial Home, with a 
girl that lives near here, and that girl 
was my cousin ; and when Miss Mopsy 
went home she told her ma that the girls 
of the cooking-class were learning the 
same things her ma had taught her, and 
she asked her ma if it was not better 


The New Boarder. 


33 


than making shirts for the sweat-shops, 
or knitting worsted things for about five 
cents a day ; and her ma thought so, and 
pretty soon there was a little sign down 
at the door, and another in their window, 
saying : — 

‘HOT SOUP EVERY DAY AT 
TWELVE O’CLOCK.’ 

“ Some of us had met Natty, — that’s 
the brother, — and he took us in; and so 
it’s got bigger and bigger, and we fellows 
just for a joke call it Miss Mopsy’s Hotel ; 
and 'you just bet we don’t never leave 
there, unless we are fired out. At first she 
could only afford tin plates and cups, but 
now we are getting on style, and we ain’t 
a bit the worse for it. I heard the Lady 
— most of us calls her ‘ Lady ’ — say that 
we ipust have paper napkins soon, for she 
thought it taught the boys good manners.” 

“Do you know how the lady was hurt?” 


34 


Mopsy, 


“ You’re good at questions, sir. Well, 
I just know that it was some kind of an 
accident, and she can’t be moved without 
two or three to do it. Some of the ‘ So- 
shiated Charity’ folks wanted to take her 
off to a hospital ; but she said ‘ No,’ and 
talked pretty plain to ’em. So, now, two 
nice young doctors come every Saturday, 
and they move her and make the bed 
all nice ; for you see she doesn’t exactly 
lie down or sit up, and they say she never 
has since Natty was a little kid.” 

“Is it the spine, I wonder?” the stran- 
ger said musingly. 

“ Shure, I can’t tell that, sir. Natty says 
it’s the paralleasis, or something so she 
can’t move her feet ; but when she has 
good days, she sews a lot. She mends this 
old coat for me with her own hands, and 
any of us fellows would fight for her and 
Miss Mopsy.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, Lahey ; you have a 
good, kind heart I’m sure. I thank you 


The Nenv Boarder. 


35 


very much for telling me these things. 
Good-by ; Vm going down this way.” 

“ Would you be leaving your name behind 
for convanience sake, sor ? ” 

“Captain” — the stranger stopped, hesi- 
tated a little, and simply said, “ only John 
Brown ; that is all.” 

“ ril find out if that’s true,” said Lahey 
as he turned toward the Works ; “ he’s the 
cut of a gentleman and the speech of one, 
and the captain’s slipped off his tongue 
unbeknownst like.” 


36 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER III. 

A TRANSFORMATION. 

The next day Spud came early with his 
sister, a poor, neglected little thing with 
a very dirty St. Cecilia face, and a very 
unsaintly odor about her clothing. 

“ Poor little thing,” said Mopsy ; “ who 
takes care of you ? ” 

“ No one, miss,” said the child, as she 
glanced about the large tidy room. 

“ Come in here and see my mother,’’ 
said Mopsy. 

The invalid held out her hand as the 
child approached. 

“‘No mother’ is written plainly in her 
eyes,” said the lady. 

“ Our mother died a year ago,” said Spud, 
who was standing in the doorway, anxiously 
watching his sister’s reception. “ She isn’t 


A Transformation, 


37 


very clean, ma’am ; but I couldn’t find no 
towel, and the soap is all gone.” 

“Where is your father. Spud?” 

“ Don’t know, miss ; haven’t seen him 
since last Sunday, and to-morrow’s Satur- 
day. Maybe he’s shoved again.” 

“ What is that, Spud ? ” 

“ Maybe he’s gone to the Island again ; 
he drinks, lady.” 

“ And do you children stay all alone 
when he’s away ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am. You see, the landlady, she 
says she ain’t a-goin’ to put us out, long as 
the rent is paid ; and he always does that ; 
and I can pick up jobs, and Tishy minds the 
landlady’s baby for some bread and milk ; and 
now I’m goin’ to work regular, ’tween schools. 
If it warn’t for school and their makin’ us 
go, I could take good care of Tishy.” 

“ I wonder that the authorities do not 
take you both away from your father,” said 
the lady, still holding the little dirty hand 
in hers. 


38 


Mopsy, 


“ They’ve threatened to ; but you see, he 
is home sometimes, and then he gets good 
wages, and Miss O’Brien, — she’s the land- 
lady, — she says she’ll look after us, so we 
are there, and what I’m afraid of is, they will 
come now an’ carry Tishy off where I can’t 
see her ; and so if you would take her, and 
let her do something for Miss Mopsy, why 
Miss O’Brien says she’ll tell ’em a kind 
lady is caring for her ; and I don’t want 
Fishy to leave me, ’cause she’s all there 
is but father, and she’s a sight like Her.” 

The boy’s chest was moving with sup- 
pressed feeling, and a succession of noises 
in his throat showed plainly that his one 
terror in life was being separated from Tishy. 

“ What is her name. Spud ? ” 

“ Letitia, ma’am, and mine is Jamsie ; but 
the boys call me Spud, owing to my small- 
ness and short legs.” 

“How old are you?” 

“ Eleven last month, ma’am ; and we are 
twins.” 


A Transformation. 


39 


“ Why, your sister is not nearly as large 
as you, Jamsie, and you are very small for 
your age.” 

“ Yes, miss ; we are stunted. Miss O’Brien 
says, ’count of bad air and not enough to eat 
steady. When father’s right we have plenty ; 
then, again, we only get what I can pick up.” 

“ I think we will keep your sister, at 
least until your father returns ; but we 
must have her made neat and tidy. Per- 
haps we can make a little bed for her 
here, and then my daughter can teach 
her some out of school-hours.” 

“ I would be glad to leave her here, 
lady. You see, it’s not good for Tishy to 
be learnin’ the bad talk she hears in our 
street ; and if she can stay with you now 
I can see her every day.” 

Spud ate his breakfast that morning 
with a bright smile on his face. As he 
passed the cashier he paused a moment 
to say, “I’ll try and pay you some way, 
ma’am, for being kind to Tishy.” 


40 


Mopsy, 


The child, who was seated on a little 
stool, eating some bread and coffee, called 
out a cheerful, “ Good-by, Jamsie ; ” and 
the boy went away with a lighter heart 
than he had known for weeks. 

When the boarders were all gone, and 
the dishes once more put in their places, 
Mopsy said, “ Shall we have lessons now, 
mother ? ” 

“ I think Tishy will be your lesson for 
to-day. We must cut those tangled locks, 
and get some fresh clothing for her, as 
soon as you can give her a vigorous 
bath.” 

While the invalid made an apron of 
Mopsy’s into a dress, and put a tuck into 
some little skirts, Mopsy, with Mrs. Gaff- 
ney’s aid, gave the child a thorough bath, 
after consigning her matted hair to the 
fire. 

Before school was out and Natty came 
bounding in, a new creature sat where the 
dirty “ St. Cecilia” was seen at breakfast-time. 


A Transformation. 


41 


“ If she was the governor’s daughter she 
couldn’t be prettier,” said Mrs. Gaffney, as 
she surveyed the child. 

“You mean she would be considered 
pretty if she were some rich man’s child,” 
said the invalid. 

“That’s it, ma’am; there’s many a baby 
on Beacon Street that is covered with 
kisses, not near so fine as this little one, 
and she no one to love her.” 

“ Yes, I have ; Jamsie loves me,” said 
the child ; “ and I love Jamsie.” 

“ And you must love these kind ladies 
too, for making you all swate and clean.” 

Tishy took the invalid’s thin white hand, 
and pressed it to her cheek, while her 
eyes seemed to say, “If I dared to love 
you, I should.” 

“ Tishy is going to be a good little 
maid, and earn herself some shoes,” said 
Mopsy. “To-night she will pass the mugs, 
and help me at supper.” 

“ Yes, she is Netta’s little girl now,” 


42 Mopsy. 

said the lady, “ and I expect she will be 
very useful.” 

That very day the boxes came home, and 
were put in place. When Jim Lahey came 
to his supper he made a new proposal. 

“ Are you going to keep the little kid 
here at night ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes ; until her father forbids it.” 

“ Then supposin’ you make her the finest 
bed in town by turning your box this way ? ” 

“The very thing,” said Mopsy; “but 
would there be room ? ” 

“Room, is it? Why, many’s the time 
I’ve put my own long shins into a box 
like that, and slept like a prince.” 

“ Perhaps I can help you, Lahey,” said 
a deep voice ; “we used to make entire 
sets of furniture out of packing-cases in 
the army.” 

Mopsy and Lahey turned, to see the tall 
form of the new boarder. 

“ I should like to make it comfortable at 
night and neat by day,” said Mopsy. 


A Transformation. 


43 


“ If you will allow me to do it for you, 
I think you will be satisfied,” said the 
stranger. 

“ I shall be very glad, sir, and so will 
mother, if it will not cost too much.” 

“ I can safely promise you that the ex- 
pense will be nothing. I have some hinges 
and a curtain, which will make it com- 
plete.” 

Mopsy held a hurried consultation with 
her mother, and then returned to the large 
room, saying, — 

“ My mother thanks you, sir, and will 
be glad to pay you for your trouble.” 

“ And count on me for lifts. Captain,” 
said Jim Lahey. 

For some reason, none knew why, Jim 
had dubbed the stranger “ Captain,” and, 
in time, all the boarders addressed him in 
the same manner. His bearing was that of 
a gentleman, his language correct, and his 
manners, as Jim said, “fine enough for the 
President of the United States.” 


44 


Mopsy. 


Where he came from, and why he chose 
to associate with the rough lads, or work at 
the Electric-Light Work, no one could tell. 
Even Jim Lahey, who boasted that he 
could find out anything he wished to, only 
succeeded in learning that the stranger’s 
name was written John Brown on the 
books ; that he was filling the place of a 
sick clerk ; that his employers pronounced 
him a perfect gentleman and a fine scholar. 

For two evenings, the Captain worked 
upon the large packing-case, and in all 
that time he had not once seen the invalid 
in the next room, although he often heard 
her voice, and in passing out dropped his 
money into the little tray. 

“ What do you propose doing with this 
small box?” asked the Captain, after Tishy’s 
bed was complete. 

“ I wanted to make a table of it to 
stand near my mother’s bed. It will be 
nice for her work, and her hands are never 
idle ; then she likes to see the boys as 


A Transformation. 


45 


they come and go, and we can have a 
little box there for her checks and money.” 

“We might make a shelf under here for 
books, and enclose this below for a closet,” 
said the Captain. 

“ That would be delightful, and then 
dear mother need not have her bed cov- 
ered with work. She is so tidy and nice, 
I know it distresses her, although she 
does not complain.” 

“ We will attack that to-morrow night,” 
said the Captain. 


46 


Mopsy 


CHAPTER IV. 

MOPSY AS GUARDIAN. 

Little by little the stranger grew in 
favor with the boys. When he first came, 
some of them wished him “ a thousand 
leagues under the sea ; ” others thought 
he was a “ Nancy,” and some feared he 
might be “ a policeman in disguise ; ” but 
the manufacture of Tishy’s lounge-bed set 
all hearts at rest. Boys respect a capable 
man ; and the Captain had not only made a 
neat little lounge-bed, which drew out at 
night and rested on its feet, but he had ar- 
ranged, on top, some little shelves, pro- 
tected by a neat curtain, where Miss Mopsy 
could conceal her coffee-pot, tea-pot, and 
all the usable things, not pretty to look at 
when not in use. After this achievement, 
the Captain became a favorite. At break- 


Mopsy as Guardian. 47 

fast, in the early morning, very little talking 
was done ; but at night, all the tongues 
were loose, and many a joke flew back 
and forth. Gradually these jokes took on a 
new form, and new topics were introduced. 
The boys began to hear something of coun- 
tries which were only mentioned in school 
and then forgotten. The Industrial Home 
on North Bennett Street was discussed ; for 
some of the boys enjoyed its blessings in 
the evening, and little Spud knew all about 
the reading-room. Two of the boarders had 
sisters in the cooking-class, and some of 
them were glad to know that their mothers 
found employment in the laundry. 

As to the shoe-shop and the carpenters’ 
workroom, were they not blessings to all 
who were fortunate enough to get in there? 
Mose knew; for the little screen, standing 
before the bed in the next room, Mose 
had made, and the boys paid for the stock 
out of their own pockets. Once or twice, 
when the boys were talking Mopsy thought 


48 


Mopsy. 


she saw a queer smile on the Captain’s 
face ; but no one else observed it, and 
Mopsy said to her mother, “ The strange 
gentleman likes to hear the boys talk. 
Sometimes, when Brinley is boasting, he 
stops eating to hear what he has to say ; 
and I think he wants them to eat slower, 
for he is always saying, ‘ Take time, boys, 
while I tell you the story of the sailor who 
was always in a hurry;’ or perhaps he 
gives them something about the food to 
think of. Can you hear him when he is 
talking, mother?” 

“His voice is so deep it is not always 
easy to hear above the clatter of the dishes. 
I wonder that our simple food suits him.” 

“Why not, mother? We always have a 
good variety; the soup is different every 
day; and the breakfast is better than they 
can get anywhere else for the money.” 

“ Now Tishy is here to wait upon me, 
you can go to market with Natty every 
day, and perhaps a good stuffed bullock’s 


Mopsy as Guardian, 


49 


heart would not be a bad treat for the 
boys on Sunday. Your old friend, the 
butcher, will save some for you, and I will 
make the stuffing here on my tray.” 

“We must not get too extravagant, 
mother ; we do not owe a cent now ; and 
if the boys keep on through the spring as 
they have done this winter, you can have 
your chair, and sit up like a queen every 
day.” 

“You forget the moving back and forth, 
dear.” 

“ Oh, no, mother; the visiting ladies have 
told me how it can be done. Think how 
pleasant it would be to sit at the win- 
dow ” — Mopsy paused. She remembered 
that nothing could be pleasant to see where 
ragged children, low saloons, and drunken 
men would be forever under their windows. 

“ I see a great deal from this window,” 
said her mother with a smile. “ If the 
room were larger, or my bed turned the 
other way, I could not enjoy so much.” 


50 Mopsy. 

“ How many chimneys can you count, 
mother ? ” 

“ Over a hundred, dear ; and the smoke 
is always changing, always curling up or 
down another way, never twice alike. Then, 
it is very droll to see the washing on the 
housetops ; and I can tell when new tenants 
come in by the garments hung out.” 

“ Is the old lady with her pipe all right, 
again ? ” 

“Yes, dear; she must have been ill. I 
saw the curtain down for a week, and I 
thought she had gone ; but one day the 
curtain rose again, and there she sat in a 
chair with a pillow behind her head, her 
broad ruffled nightcap as white as ever. 
To-day, she had her pipe once more, and 
now I know that she is happy.” 

“What a busy woman you are, mother; 
always weaving stories about these people 
we never know.” 

“I do know them, child; some of them, 
at least. Only yesterday, the children on 


Mopsy as Guardian, 51 

the fourth floor of that tall house behind 
us waved a ragged shawl at me, and I 
waved my handkerchief in return. I think 
their mother goes out to work, and fastens 
them in, and I am helping take care of 
them. See, there they are now ! The little 
one is showing me an orange ! How she 
laughs when I clap my hands together! 
Some one has given her a treat.” 

“ On the whole, it would not be wise 
to move you into the next room,” said 
Mopsy, as she bent over her mother’s 
pillow to see the little strangers; “you 
would lose too many old friends here; and 
you are making some one happy. 

“The strange gentleman asked me if his 
pounding disturbed you ; and I said nofhing 
disturbed you, except disorder and dirt. 
Isn’t it true, mother?” 

Her mother patted her cheek. 

“ You can’t think what he said ? ” 

“ He looked at me for a moment very 
sharply, and then said, — 


52 


Mopsy. 


“‘It would be strange if the kingdom of 
heaven should be located at the North End.’ 

“ I couldn’t answer him, and he went on 
with his work. He seems to love work. 
He is making Natty a shelf for his books ; 
and he told him, yesterday, if he would 
bring home a good school report for a 
month, that he would give him a ‘ Robin- 
son Crusoe ’ which had been around the 
world.” 

“ I wish he might interest Natty ; the 
boy is restless, and this life is hard for 
him.” 

“ Harder than for us, mother ? ” 

“ He is constituted differently, Netta ; he 
has neither your courage nor your patience. 
Under good training. Natty might be a 
good man. In this place, I dread to think 
what will become of him.” 

“If we move now, mother, we will lose 
the boarders.” 

“ No ; we must stay for the present, and 
do what we may to shield Natty.” 


Mopsy as Guardian. 


53 


The girl sighed, and drew her head from 
her mother’s shoulder. “ I must go,” she 
said ; “ it is time to begin again. How 
strange it would seem to be free to run 
about as Natty does, and live in the air. ^ 
I am shut up nearly as much as you, little 
mother, only I can use my feet.” 

“Thank Heaven for that, dear. You 
are my greatest comfort on earth.” 

A moment before, Mopsy was crying 
out in her heart against the injustice done 
her. Why was it always Natty ? Why 
should she, only two years older, shield 
him ? Why should he dash hither and 
thither, leaving her to bear all the burdens 
alone ? Her mother did not seem to no- 
tice — did she really care ? Was Natty 
her favorite child, or did she fear some 
unseen power which might drag him down 
into the sin and wickedness about them ? 
All this flashed through her mind, and set 
her heart to throbbing, and unconsciously 
added pathos to her simple words, “ I am 


54 Mopsy, 

shut up nearly as much as you are, 
mother.” 

She could not believe that she had heard 
aright. She, Mopsy, the hard-working, hard- 
* handed little girl, who only washed dishes 
and drudged for a crowd of rough, hungry 
boys, her “ mother’s greatest comfort ” ! The 
spring days were telling on her, and the 
close confinement made her head dizzy ; 
but if — could it be true ? Her greatest 
comfort? Mopsy felt like praying and cry- 
ing in the same breath. She had walked 
away from the bed when her mother was 
speaking of Natty ; but she went back now, 
and rested her face close to her mother’s. 

“ Mopsy, are you crying, little girl ? 
What is it ? Are you tired out, or has 
something new gone wrong — tell me, 
dear ? ” 

“ I was only thinking that, perhaps, the 
stranger was right, mother. I don’t mind 
being tired, now you have said that. I 
don’t mind Natty’s teasing, and his playing 


Mopsy as Guardian. 


55 


after school, and the mud on the stairs, and 
all the other things, if you feel that way.” 

“Dear child, did you ever doubt it?” 

“ Sometimes, mother, when Natty has 
done wrong, and you are so easy with 
him, when his kisses seem to be better 
than all I can do, and — and — but it 
don’t matter now, mother ; you can’t take 
it back, and you won’t, will you ? So, after 
all, the kingdom of heaven can be here, 
can’t it, mother ? ” 

“ In our hearts, dear ; and I can never 
take it back. Natty never will know the 
sad past as you know it ; and, together, we 
will make his home so pleasant that he 
will come here first and always.” 

“Are you there, Miss Mopsy?” called 
Mrs. Gaffney in the hall. 

“ Yes,” answered Mopsy. 

“ Then come out a bit while I speak to 
you.” 

In a moment or two, the girl returned. 


saying, — 


56 


Mopsy. 


“ I am going out for a little, mother, and 
Mrs. Gaffney says she will see to the boys’ 
supper.” 

“It will do her good to have the air, 
ma’am,” said Mrs. Gaffney, “ and she’s a 
master one at marketing ; so, if you please, 
Miss Mopsy, you may bring me a bit of 
liver while you are at it.” Mopsy’s face was 
white with dread as she put on her hat 
and hurried away. 


Natty Tries Travel, 


57 


CHAPTER V. 

NATTY TRIES TRAVEL. 

While Mrs. Gaffney talked eagerly to 
the invalid of all that was going on in 
the world outside, save the business which 
had taken her little daughter away, Mopsy 
was flying rapidly toward the schoolhouse 
where Natty was a pupil. She was fright- 
ened at the thought of meeting strangers, 
and bewildered by the tidings Mrs. Gaff- 
ney had brought her ; but above all the 
tumult in her mind, she was constantly say- 
ing over and over to herself, — 

“ Mother must not know ; whatever hap- 
pens, she must not know now.” 

A pupil answered the bell — a girl about 
Mopsy’s age, who stared at the visitor. 

“ I want to see Miss Stephenson, one 
of the teachers.” 


58 


Mopsy, 


“ Go round to the other door, and up 
two flights,” said the girl shortly. 

Mopsy was glad to go anywhere to put 
off the evil hour. She was in the build- 
ing at last, and on her way up-stairs, when 
she remembered her mother’s words, “ We 
must do all we can to shield Natty.” “ I 
will ask the teacher not to speak of it 
before the scholars,” she said ; “ for Natty 
is proud, and he will not come back if 
they know.” 

She reached the door at last, and 
knocked with trembling fingers. Another 
pupil opened it. 

“Can I see Miss Stephenson?” 

The lady came to the door. 

“ I would like to speak with you alone,” 
said Mopsy. 

“ Certainly,” said the lady as she closed 
the door. 

“ I am Natty Howard’s sister, and I got 
your message. I thank you very much for 
sending it. We thought he was here, and 


Natty Tries Travel. 59 

I dare not tell my sick mother, if you 
please ” — 

Here Mopsy’s voice failed her, and the 
teacher said pleasantly, — 

“I am very sorry. When you came with 
Natty to enter the school I noticed you. 
I remember your face ; I promised to let 
you know if anything went wrong. Natty 
was not here all day yesterday ; and he is 
usually so bright and good that I did not 
like to report him.” 

“ All day yesterday ! ” exclaimed Mopsy. 

“ And has not been here to-day.” 

Mopsy caught her hand eagerly. 

“ O madam, it is as my mother feared, 
this wretched neighborhood will spoil him ! 
But she must not know ; it would kill her. 
And please, dear lady, do not tell the truant 
officer ; let me find him, and bring him 
home. He is careless and thoughtless, and 
some of the big boys have tempted him.” 

Mopsy’s tearful face and eager* tones 
touched the teacher. 


6o 


Mopsy. 


“ I will do all I can to help you,” she said. 
“This is his first offence, and perhaps it can 
be explained. He may have met with some 
slight injury, and have been taken to the 
hospital. I will not report him until I hear 
from you; for we all like Natty, he is so 
polite and good-natured.” 

“Thank you, miss, and as soon as I learn 
where he is I will send you word ; only let 
the boys think he is at home with me.” 

“ I am very sorry for you, child ; per- 
haps you will think of some way to keep it 
from your mother. He was at home last 
night ?” 

“ Oh, yes; he came in late; he was very 
tired, and soon went to sleep. He said he 
had been over to East Boston to see a big 
steamer.” 

“ Foolish Natty! He needs a strong, firm 
hand to keep him from these evil com- 
panions.” 

It was useless to ask the teacher’s as- 
sistance further ; and Mopsy turned away, 


Natty Tries Travel. 6 1 

thanking her again and again for her 
promise to keep the matter quiet. 

“What shall I do? What shall I do?” 
said the girl as she fairly staggered down 
the long stairs. 

The day was warm for April ; groups of 
children were playing in the gutters or on 
the walks, as she hurried on. 

“ If I only had one friend,” said she, “only 
some one to ask, some one to care, or some 
way to spare mother and shield him” — 

Just then a large dray turned the corner 
of the street close to her, and nearly ran 
over a little child. 

Mopsy darted forward, and seized the little 
one from under the horse’s feet ; she did 
not stop to look about, but gave it to a girl 
on the walk, and hurried on. 

As she turned into Endicott Street, she 
saw Spud going before her on his way to 
supper. His torn shoes clattered on the 
walk at every step, and his shabby hat 
hung down over one ear. He was whis- 


62 


Mopsy, 


ding, “ Never Say Die,” and Mopsy’s sor- 
rowful face lighted up. 

“Spud,” she said, “O Spud! could you 
do me a great kindness ? ” 

“Is that you. Miss Mopsy? Why, I’d be 
proud to do anything for you.” 

“ Spud, will you keep a secret, and 
never, never, tell one of the boys ? ” 

“ I’d cut my tongue out first, if it is 
anything of yours. Miss Mopsy.” 

“ I want to find some one — a kind 
man — to look after Natty ; he wasn’t at 
school yesterday.” 

“That’s bad. If one of us plays hookey, 
it’s all right ; but Natty, he’s a different 
sort, miss.” 

“ I know. Spud, but something must be 
done.” 

“ If you was to ask Jim, he’d say go to 
‘ Soshiated Charities.’ Jim thinks they are 
good to cure all the troubles in the world.” 

“ They do cure a great many. Spud ; but 
Natty’s name must not go down on their 


Natty Tries Travel, 63 

books. You see, it would hurt mother, 
and we can care for ourselves ; besides, it’s 
too late to go there, now.” 

“ Here comes the new boarder, the 
Cap’n ; maybe he could help you, if you 
don’t mind speakin’ to him.” 

Before Mopsy could tell whether she 
minded or whether she dared, the tall 
stranger had overtaken them, and said 
kindly, — 

“ How does it happen that my landlady 
is out now, when she is usually preparing 
for us ? ” 

“ She’s troubled about her brother, sir ; 
she don’t know just what to do, and I 
told her, maybe you could help her.” 

“ I certainly will try. Miss Mopsy ; if you 
will trust me.” 

The girl looked into his face eagerly. 

“ I will tell you, sir, as we walk on ; if 
you are going up our street now.” 

“Yes; I was going in early to put some 
finishing touches to your table.” 


64 


Mopsy. 


They walked on together, Mopsy ex- 
plaining as they went, while the stranger 
listened eagerly. 

“ Only a foolish, boyish escapade,” he 
said kindly ; “it will all come right, my 
young friend, and we will find Natty at 
home, ready for his supper with the rest.” 

“You must not mention this,” he said, 
turning to Spud; “or you will distress the 
lady who is trying to do so much for your 
sister.” 

Mopsy fairly flew home after this ; all 
her trouble seemed to roll away at once 
when the Captain spoke ; and when she 
entered the room, closely followed by Spud 
and the Captain, there was Natty standing 
at the window devouring a huge piece of 
bread. 

It was still more than two hours before 
supper-time ; and, as Mrs. Gaffney was at 
liberty, Mopsy took her basket, asking Natty 
to come with her, as she must bring home 
some marketing. 


Natty Tries Travel. 


65 


If you will take Spud instead,” said 
the Captain quietly, “ I shall be glad to 
have your brother for an assistant.” 

Spud stole a glance at Tishy, who was 
seated on the foot of her new friend’s bed, 
listening eagerly to a story, and then walked 
away with his young landlady. 

“ It’s a queer world, ain’t it. Miss 
Mopsy ? ” 

“Why, Spud?” 

“ Why, you see everything seems to be 
going wrong, or else it seems to be going 
all right, and all of a sudden comes a 
change, and some big trouble, and you’d 
just as lieves die as not; but you can’t; and 
then that trouble goes off, and it’s all clear 
and pleasant, when down comes another, 
which knocks you flat. The whole world 
is full of tangles ; and we are in ’em. Up 
in the corner of my room there’s a spider’s 
web, and I take heaps of fun watching it 
when I can’t sleep, early in the morning. 
The old spider, he gets a fly in there, and 


66 


Mopsy. 


he. snarls things up; but sometimes the fly 
fights his way out, and then I want to clap 
my hands. I get into the tangles lots of 
times, but I always fight out somehow. 
The first time father was shoved after she 
died it most killed me. I didn’t eat, and I 
couldn’t sleep, and it seemed as if the 
whole world hated Tishy and me ; but I got 
to thinking about it, and I said, now if I 
fret I can’t grow, and if I don’t grow I 
can’t help Tishy and earn a pretty little 
home for her, and I said I ain’t to blame 
’cause father goes wrong. Mother often 
told me so ; and I mustn’t let his going 
wrong spoil me ; it must make me better.” 

Was Spud trying to comfort her ? Was 
he a philosopher at eleven years of age ? 

Mopsy did not quite know, but she liked to 
hear him chatter. Perhaps her trouble was 
going away now that the Captain knew about 
it. If she could only tell mother it would be 
all right. Then came the thought — Spud 
had no one to tell ; he was motherless. 


Natty Tries Travel. 


67 


“ Was your mother very kind, Spud ? ” 

“ Oh, my, yes. Miss Mopsy ! She knew 
about books ; but, somehow, she had got in 
the tangles. She got consumption and died, 
and fathers been worse since; and that’s 
one of the queer things.” 

“Why, Spud?” 

“You see, when she died he promised 
her to be steady and not drink, and to look 
after us, and get us in a better place, some- 
where in the country ; and, if he couldn’t 
stand firm, not to let us suffer, but write to 
her folks. Now, what bothers me is this. 
Miss Mopsy, how a man could say such 
things to her when she was dying, and 
then keep drunk a week after the funeral. 
A promise to some one who is dying seems 
like a promise to God, Miss Mopsy.” 

“Did you promise anything. Spud?” 

“Oh, yes! I signed it, and keep it here 
in this jacket pocket. It’s worn a hole 
three times, but Miss O’Brien, she mended 
it. I’ll read it to you if you like.” 


68 


Mopsy, 


“ Yes, Spud.” 

The boy produced a small blank book, 
much soiled, and read slowly, although he 
evidently knew it by heart : — 

“ I, James Manning, promise my dying 
mother to be temperate in all things. I 
will never drink intoxicating liquors, never 
use oaths nor any vile language ; and I 
promise solemnly to care for my little 
sister, Letitia H. Manning, as long as we 
both shall live ; and I pray that God will 
help me to be a good man, and live honestly 
and justly all my days.” 

“ That is a grand promise, Spud.” 

“ She wrote it, and here is her name 
close to mine. Her hand trembled when 
she put it down that day.” 

Mopsy looked over his shoulder. 

“ Why, that is Louisa Hunt, and your 
father’s name is Manning ! ” 

“ Yes, that’s another queer thing ; it was 
her name before she married my father, and 
she used to write it that way, and once I 


Natty Tries Travel. 


69 


asked her why, and she said, ‘ For your 
sake and Tishy’s.’ And I said, ‘Is it a 
tangle, mother ? ’ and she said, ‘ Yes, 
Jamsie, it’s a tangle; I hope it will all be 
fairly unwound some day.’ You see, she 
had some relatives right here in Boston, 
some rich folks, but she never told us 
where.” 

“ Won’t your father tell you ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; he hates ’em and curses ’em.” 


70 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DEAD MOTHER’S LEGACY. 

All the pent-up energy of a long winter 
seemed to be cropping out at the North 
End as spring advanced. The faithful work- 
ers at the Industrial Home found applicants 
and visitors to the rooms rapidly increasing, 
while the Charity building was thronged day 
after day. 

“ There ain’t room for us all,” said Mose, 
“ and I am one of the lucky ones. In a 
few weeks more I can make as pretty a 
table as you would want to see. Miss 
Mopsy.” 

“ It can’t beat Brinley’s shoes,” said Jim. 
“ Did you see the pair he made for a young 
lady on Commonwealth Avenue ? Real 
bang-up button ones, high enough to go 
wadin’ in.” 


The Dead Mother s Legacy, 71 

“That’s the place for poor chaps; only 
the carpenter-shop ought to be five times 
bigger, and the shoe-shop too,” said Mose. 

“What about the printing-office. Inky? 
They say you can get a chance there, by 
and by.” 

“ It won’t be for the want of trying,” said 
a tall lad nicknamed Inky. 

“ I tell yer the Home and the Soshiated 
is doing more good than all the churches 
in Boston,” said Jim. 

“ Go dong, now, Jim ! yo’re jist cracked 
over them, since the lady down there got 
you into the readin’-room and set ye up.” 

“ Why shouldn’t I spake good words of 
’em, when I was a loafer widout a home or 
a friend till they took me in there, and I 
haven’t lost a day’s work since ? Wait a 
bit until Jim Lahey has a house of his own, 
an’ you’ll see if he don’t kape it neater and 
finer, not to say illeganter, for all the trouble 
the ladies have been at.” 

The boys cheered Jim softly, not forget- 


72 


Mopsy. 


ting the lady in the next room ; but one 
and all felt sure that Jim’s feet were on 
firm ground and his heart ' in the right 
place since he had been a constant visitor 
at the Home. 

“ Some of you might read here,” said 
a gentle voice from the next room ; “ you 
might come for two hours on Sunday, and 
perhaps I could read to you a little.” 

“That’s what I call handsome,” said Jim; 
“ but you must get tired of our noise on 
week-days, marm.” 

“ Oh, no ! I should miss you very much ; 
and now, as the days grow longer, it will 
be pleasant to think of something besides 
cooking and food.” 

The Captain was not present when this 
offer was made ; he had gone with Natty 
to see some machinery which the boy de- 
lighted in. 

Jim Lahey told the Captain of it the 
next morning, and his only reply was a 
queer smile. 


The Dead Mother's Legacy. 73 

“ What do you look that way for, sir ? 
Isn’t it just like the ‘ Princess ’ to do 
that?” 

The boys had called her the “ Princess ” 
of late, ever since Brinley had told them of 
a story he been reading. 

“I was thinking of another upper room,” 
said the Captain quietly. 

“What do you mean, sir? That we 
might get the other one, where the Dono- 
vans were, and make a hall like for Miss 
Mopsy ? ” 

“ The room I was thinking of was in an- 
other country, Jim, and a plain, despised, 
persecuted Man of Sorrows called people 
together there. I cannot help thinking 
that a little of his spirit is moving down 
here in Endicott Street.” 

Jim was silent. This strange, handsome 
man puzzled him, and his queer words al- 
ways seemed to set his jiearers to thinking. 

“That’s a grand idea of yours, Jim, about 
the room; we might manage it, perhaps. 


74 


Mopsy. 


ril talk with the boys about it, and Mother 
Gaffney will be glad to have it taken off 
her hands.” 

Mother Gaffney was glad, and raised no 
objection to the door being cut through, 
after the Captain said it must be so and he 
would pay for it. 

How eager the lads were to have a hand 
in it ; how delighted with every improve- 
ment ! 

One thing cheered the invalid. Natty 
was interested, and seldom left the Cap- 
tain’s side when he was in the house. 

“ I should like to tell my mother about 
Natty,” said Mopsy one day when the 
Captain had sent the boy after some nails; 
“ I have never kept anything from mother, 
sir, and it does not make me feel happy.” 

“ Since the trouble is well over, you 
might tell her,” said the stranger. “ I wish, 
however, that Natty would confess, him- 
self.” 

Natty did not and would not ; but Mopsy 


The Dead JMother's Legacy. 75 

found a good opportunity that evening to 
explain her mysterious absence during the 
past week. 

“You cannot think how kind the Cap- 
tain was, mother ; he made it so easy for 
me, and I don’t know what he said to 
Natty ; but something has made a great 
change.” 

“ He seems to be helping us all, dear. 
I wonder, sometimes, why he remains here ; 
a gentleman would naturally seek a better 
boarding-place.” 

“ And, mother, I do not think his name 
is Brown, for his handkerchief had another 
letter on it ; I saw it when he was at work 
on your table.” 

“ Never mind, dear; we will take the 
good which falls to us, and neither ques- 
tion nor surmise ; he is certainly kind to 
us, and Mrs. Gaffney tells me that he pays 
the room-rent every week for the old man 
on the first floor, ever since he went in to 
see him the night after his fall.” 


76 


Mopsy, 


“ He must be a good man, mother ; and 
if he helps us to keep Natty from going 
wrong, I am sure we shall never forget it. 
He never comes in here, does he, mother? 
Never has since that first day, not even to 
place the table. He always gives Jim the 
money for two. He sits next Jim, you 
know.” 

“ He shows his delicacy,” said her mother. 
“ He knows that a lady would not mind 
these boys, whereas the presence of a 
strange gentleman might embarrass her.” 

On the following Saturday night the 
new room was opened. Much to the re- 
gret of all the boys the Captain was called 
away. Who his visitor was, or what his 
errand, none knew ; but they were not 
forgotten. 

At Mopsy’s request, Jim Lahey took 
charge of affairs ; and a merry evening was 
spent in singing, telling stories, reading 
aloud, and eating some ice-cream and cake, 
which arrived just in time, sent by “a 


The Dead Mother's Legacy. 77 

friend,” the bearer said; and the “ unknown 
friend ” received three cheers. 

It was nearly a week before the Captain 
returned, and took his accustomed seat at 
Mopsy’s table. Some changes had taken 
place ; two of the boys had found homes 
in the country, Mose had hired out for a 
fishing- trip, and Inky had work in a print- 
ing-office at Salem. 

“ I am afraid there will be more changes 
before the summer is over ; and I dread to 
think of it, for the boys have fallen into 
our ways now, and it is so pleasant to see 
them in the new room. I think Spud is the 
happiest boy in Boston since Tishy’s father 
has consented to let her remain with us.” 

Mopsy was talking to the Captain, who 
was a little late, and sat a long time over 
a cup of tea and some toast which Mopsy 
had made for him. She regarded him as 
an old friend now since the new room was 
complete. It seemed a long time since 
that day when he came in and took his 


78 


Mopsy. 


seat at her table. The trouble with Natty 
had made them friends, Mopsy thought ; 
and, since then, he was always doing some- 
thing to make life easier. 

“ It would do Spud good to get into the 
country this summer. Do you suppose he 
would leave Tishy for a few weeks ? ” 

“ He might leave her with us ; he is so 
anxious to grow strong in order to support 
Tishy.” 

“And their father is back again, is he?” 

“ He came back from the Island, but has 
gone again. He brought us some of his 
wife’s clothing to make over for the child, 
and we have not seen him since.” 

“ Do you know anything of the mother?” 

“ We found some books and pictures of 
hers in the trunk, besides a large package 
of letters, which my mother says must be 
kept for the children to read; no one else 
must disturb them.” 

“ Poor little things ; the girl looks like 
an American.” 


The Dead Mother's Legacy. 79 

“ Her mother was a lady, sir, and has 
relatives in Boston, people of wealth. Spud 
says ; but his mother would not apply to 
them, and they never liked the father.” 

The Captain was listening attentively. 

“ If the relatives could see little Tishy, 
they would be proud of her; she grows 
pretty every day ; and is so fond of her 
dear Jamsie.” 

“ Do you remember the mother’s name ? 
Did you ever hear it ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, often ; Spud carries it in his 
breast-pocket, and it is marked on her 
clothing, ‘ Louisa Hunt.’ ” 

The Captain started, his face flushed, the 
bit of toast which he was about to eat fell 
from his fingers. For a moment, he looked 
steadily in Mopsy’s face. 

“ Perhaps you have heard it before, sir. 
I thought I had, but I cannot tell where. 
Mother thinks it is a fancy of mine.” 

“I have heard it before,” he said briefly, 
as he wiped the moisture from his brow. 


8o 


Mopsy. 


He did not offer to finish the broken 
toast, and soon rose to go out, while 
Mopsy looked at him earnestly. 

“ I hope you are not ill, sir,” she said 
timidly. 

“ Oh, no, little friend ! ” and then he 
added something which Mopsy could not 
understand, about “ the place of cruci- 
fixion.” 

“ Spud was right ; the ‘ tangles ’ were 
everywhere, and we were in them.” 


In the Public Gardefi, 


8i 


CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE PUBLIC GARDEN. 

When the Captain left his little landlady, 
he went directly out of the house, and 
walked rapidly away. For once, he quite 
forgot to step into the old man’s room on 
the lower floor, and speak a kindly word 
as he left him an evening paper. Up 
through the dismal, dirty streets he went, 
looking neither to the right nor left until 
he reached the Public Garden. The air 
had been sultry all day, and nearly every 
seat was filled. The winter had been 
severe, and now spring came in with a 
bound, and the sun beat down relentlessly 
on heads not quite prepared for the sud- 
den change. Having finished his work for 
the day. Old Sol was now fast disappear- 
ing from sight, leaving only some brilliant 


82 Mopsy, 

rays scattered here and there on the bud- 
ding tree-tops. 

The Captain saw it all, felt it, and was 
glad to know that hundreds of poor pent-up 
sons and daughters of poverty would once 
more be permitted to breathe the pure, 
free air. He said this to himself as he 
sank wearily down on the end of a seat 
already occupied. He was too much en- 
gaged with his own thoughts to notice his 
companion, until the latter said, — 

“Warm weather for the season, sir?” 

The Captain turned, and saw a fine-look- 
ing elderly gentleman with gray whiskers, cut 
in English style, and a good-natured face. 
He held an evening paper in his hand. 
Something about him seemed familiar. 

“It is warm, sir,” responded the Captain; 
“ and I have foolishly walked faster than 
is necessary.” 

“ We all do that in America, if we walk 
at all. I do not mind a mile or two on 
a night like this, and I am democratic 


In the Public Garden. 83 

enough to enjoy the sights and scenes in 
these gardens.” 

“So am I, sir; they were the best bit 
of progress I observed after a long sojourn 
abroad.” 

How large a field for conversation is 
covered by that one word “abroad”! For 
half an hour these gentlemen chatted like 
old friends, of Italy, of Paris the gay, and 
Switzerland ; then, as a handsome carriagfe 
drove up near the entrance, the elderly 
gentleman rose to go. 

“ I am glad to have met you, sir,” he 
said, “ and will be happy to see you at 
my office in Court Street. My home is in 
Brookline, but it is a fancy of mine to 
have Thomas meet me here with the 
horses. A man goes home with better 
grace after resting a bit in the fresh air ; 
an idiosyncrasy of mine, for which I am 
well laughed at by my family.” 

The Captain rose and walked with^ his 
new friend to the carriage door. 


84 


Mopsy. 


“ I indulge in a few idiosyncrasies of 
my own,” said the Captain, smiling ; “for 
instance, walking from the North End as 
if I were driven post-haste on a night like 
this.” 

“ Ah, one of the visitors of the Associ- 
ated Charities, I presume ? ” 

“ A self-appointed one at present, sir.” 

“ Well, that reminds me of a queer 
thing which happened down there the other 
day. We found it out by accident. The 
nurse took my little grandchild down that 
way, expressly against orders ; but the girl 
had a lover in that section, working in 
some of those lofts, and it seems the little 
one was left below with another giddy girl, 
who let it wander into the street, and it 
was nearly run over. A young girl of 
fourteen or fifteen rushed under the horse’s 
head, seized the child, and landed it safely 
on the walk, and then hurried away. Now, 
I have been trying for a week to find out 
something about that girl. She saved my 


In the Public Garden. 85 

only grandchild from death, and I want 
her to be suitably rewarded.” 

“ She should be,” said the Captain. 

“ Of course she should ; but the queer 
part of it was, no one knew her, and she 
never stopped to speak to any one. We 
heard of it through the driver, who asked 
the child’s name. The man used to work 
for me several years ago; and he came up 
to tell us, for fear the child might be taken 
there again.” 

“ Your son’s family live here in Boston, 
then ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; just over there on Beacon 
Street : you can almost see the house. I 
have not told my daughter-in-law yet, but 
I managed to have the girl discharged. 
You will see an advertisement of mine in 
this evening’s paper; here it is.” 

The Captain took it, and bowed his 
thanks, while the elderly gentleman entered 
his carriage, and was driven rapidly away. 

“ A benevolent face and a genial man- 


86 


Mopsy. 


ner,” said the Captain, as he returned to 
his seat once more. “ Hardly a typical 
Bostonian, — too cordial, too frank, and 
perhaps too generous.” 

He turned over the paper, and found, 
under the head of special notices, the fol- 

I NFORMATION WANTED — Concerning the little girl 
who saved a child from death on Tuesday, April — , by taking it 
from under some horses’ feet near the corner of North Margin St. 

Any one who can bring reliable information will be suitably re- 
warded. JOHN B. HUNT, Court St. 

Did the Captain see clearly ? 

Could it be true that he was sitting 
quietly on a seat in the Public Garden, or 
was the world upside down ? 

Mopsy had told him only the day before 
something about Spud and his tangles ; 
surely they were surrounding him. What 
should he do, — fight out, like the fly Spud 
admired so much, or let things take their 
course ? 

Would a full knowledge of all particu- 
lars bring about the best results for all ? 
Would’ further observation and delay end 



In the Public Garden. 


87 


in goodness, mercy, and peace, or must he 
remain at his post and await further de- 
velopments ? 

It was a hard question, and Captain 
Brown pondered long ere he rose to re- 
trace his steps. 

“ Why should I overturn good to the 
many for the sake of the few ? ” he asked 
himself. “ Why should I interfere with the 
leaven which is working slowly but stead- 
ily ? ” He thought of Mopsy’s mother, al- 
ways serene, always hopeful, and yet never 
free from pain ; he thought of Tishy, grow- 
ing every day wiser and prettier under 
such tender, gentle guidance ; he thought 
of Spud and Natty, and lastly of Mopsy, 
— brave, faithful Mopsy, now paring vege- 
tables for her savory soup, now reciting her 
lesson at her mother’s side. 

He had not taken much interest in these 
lessons hitherto, he had been so absorbed 
with the boys ; now, he asked himself, “ If 
a golden opportunity comes to her, will it 


88 


Mopsy, 


be indeed golden? Can any one make her 
more noble and womanly, more patient and 
self-denying, than she now is? If a few 
words of mine can change her life, what 
can I give her for this work ? Will the 
mother be happier ? Will the world gain 
or lose? What of the boy and girl? 

For some reason Captain Brown, as the 
lads called him, did not appear at break- 
fast ; and when he came at night he told 
Mopsy he had been looking over some 
papers in a friend’s office, and, as the clerk 
had returned to his place, he would' no 
longer work at the Power House. 

“You will not go away from here, will 
you ? ” asked Mopsy, with an unconscious 
tone of terror in her voice. 

“Not if I may stay. I have some im- 
portant papers to arrange ; and if you will 
allow me I will write in our reading-room 
for a few weeks, paying you extra rent for 
its use.” 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” said Mopsy. “ It is all 


In the Public Garden, 


89 


yours now. We should never have had it 
but for you, and mother says there is so 
little we can do for you in return.” 

“Then it is settled; I will bring my desk 
here and begin work. Before I do so, I 
would like to have you and Natty go with 
me to call on a friend of mine. Will 
you ? ” 

“ I will ask mother, sir.” 

“ Perhaps I had better ask for you?” 

“ If you will, sir.” 

He did not offer to enter the invalid’s 
room, but stood without, leaning against 
the doorway, while Mrs. Howard’s fingers 
were working nervously at the fringe of a 
shawl she wore. He did not even see 
her face. 

He stood there, telling the story of the 
little child whose life was saved, and of 
the girl who saved it, while Mopsy lis- 
tened, but did not seem to have heard it 
before. 

“ The little heroine was your daughter, 


90 


Mopsy. 


and the old gentleman is my friend. I 
have promised to take your daughter to 
him, and permit him to thank her as he 
pleases, if you do not object?” 

Mrs. Howard did not object, but wished 
it looked upon as a simple duty simply 
done. “ It must have been so with Netta ; 
for I now hear of it for the first time.” 

“ I had forgotten it, mother ; I was so 
troubled about Natty, and I did not know 
where to go or what to do.” 

“You may go with the Captain, dear, 
and tell the gentleman that you neither 
expect nor desire a reward for your little 
act of mercy.” 

“We will go there to-morrow, as soon 
as Natty is out of school,” said the Captain 
briefly. 

Why Natty was invited Mrs. Howard 
could not understand ; but doubtless it was 
only another effort of the Captain’s to keep 
the boy under his control. 

The Captain took his hat and went out. 


In the Public Garden, 


91 


“ I shall not be recognized,” said he, 
“ thanks to an Indian sun and these broad 
shoulders ; and selfish ease has a lesson 
to learn.” 


92 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE lawyer’s wife. 

School was out and Natty ready long 
before the Captain came. He “ had been 
very busy,” he said ; “ they must excuse 
his delay.” 

Mopsy looked uncommonly pretty in a 
neat little straw hat which her mother had 
trimmed for her ; and the Captain wondered, 
as he walked by her side, if any one would 
ever imagine her to be a denizen of the 
North End. 

Natty asked endless questions, “ Where 
are we going? What for? Shall we stay 
long ? Is it a friend of yours ? ” 

The Captain answered him readily, and 
as they turned into Court Street he said, — 

“ Now, Natty, if you have questions to 
answer, give straightforward replies.” 


The Lawyer s Wife. 


93 


Mopsy was already dreading to enter, 
when her companion opened the door, and 
introduced her to the gentleman. The 
Captain was surprised to see a showily 
dressed woman seated by the gentleman’s 
desk. 

“ Ah, here you are ! ” said the lawyer ; 
“ here you are ! So this is the young lady 
who saved our little Bessie from being 
kicked to pieces. Come here and shake 
hands with my wife.” 

Mopsy moved forward, while the Captain 
looked keenly at the lady. Yes, he 
should know her anywhere, — the same 
coarse features, the same faded blue eyes 
and haughty expression. Years of wealth 
and luxury had not improved her, and 
the wrinkles about the eyes could not 
be concealed by the false hair which did 
excellent service in that way upon her 
brow. 

She glanced at the Captain once, re- 
membered him only as some one her hus- 


94 


Mopsy, 


band said was eccentric enough to visit 
poor families at the North End ; then she 
examined Mopsy’s face once more. 

“She is older than I thought,” said she; 
“a great girl like that might well lift such 
a frail thing as Bessie.” 

Her husband did not seem to hear her ; 
he was looking at the child earnestly, and 
then suddenly roused himself. “She looks 
like a friend of mine,” said he. 

“ A lady friend ? ” asked his wife. 

“ Yes ; one long since dead.” 

“ That’s not comfortable. Do tell the 
child that we are grateful to her, and give 
her something for her trouble ; this gentle- 
man will see that it is wisely expended I 
dare say.” 

Captain Brown did not speak, and the 
lawyer thought he detected something like 
a look of scorn on his face. It vexed him 
for a moment ; and he said with some 
show of spirit, — 

“ My dear, money can never repay this 


The Lauoyers Wife, 


95 


little girl. I don’t think she knows all she 
has done for us. Harry is quite wild over 
it, and as he is too sick to look after busi- 
ness I shall make it mine to act for both 
of us. What is your name, dear ? ” 

“ Netta Howard.” 

“They call her ‘ Mopsy ’ on account of 
her hair,” said Natty, who had been long- 
ing to utter a few words. 

“ And what do they call you, my lad ? ” 

“ I’m her brother, and my name is Na- 
thaniel Howard.” 

“ A very good name it is, too.” 

“ Now, I wonder what this young lady 
would like best in all the world ? ” asked 
Mr. Hunt kindly. 

“ To see mother well, sir,” said Mopsy 
frankly. 

“ Is she an invalid ? ” asked the lawyer, 
turning to the Captain. 

“ I think she has not walked a step in 
many years.” 

“ Why, how dreadful ! ” exclaimed the 


96 


Mqpsy, 


lady; “and I dare say they are as poor as 
church mice. Such people always are.” 

Mopsy’s cheeks burned like fire; and the 
Captain thought he detected a little tremu- 
lousness, which did not arise from fear, as 
she answered : — 

“ My mother says we can never be poor 
while we have power to help ourselves 
and others. We were not any happier 
when we were richer.” 

“ There, there, mother ; she is in the 
right of it. Let me manage this affair, for 
Harry’s sake,” said the lawyer. 

“ If mother can’t be cured, what would 
you like Don’t be afraid to speak ! ” 

“ A nice chair for her to be moved 
about in.” 

“ Anything else ? If you had on a wish- 
ing-cap, and could get all you wished for, 
what would you say ? ” 

“ I had rather not tell all, sir.” 

“ How would you like to have me send 
you to school every day?” 


The Lawyer s Wife. 


97 


“ I could not leave my mother, sir.” 

“ Suppose we could put mother in the 
hospital, where she might have good 
care ? ” 

Mopsy writhed like one in pain, and 
turned appealingly to the Captain. 

“That would not be the kindest course 
under the circumstances, sir,” said he. 
“ Mrs. Howard is herself a fine scholar, 
if one can judge from the books about, 
and her daughter s line of studies. It would 
be impossible to separate them, as no one 
else understands the mother’s needs. I 
think Miss Howard has shown herself quite 
capable of caring for her entire family. 
At present, she is in a locality where she 
is doing great good. Her chief desire, as 
I judge, is to supply her mother’s needs, 
and give her brother a good education.” 

“ I like that, young lady, and I will help 
you.” 

“ How would you be pleased to have 
me send this brother of yours to a good 


98 


Mopsy. 


school in the country, where he can grow 
strong and wise too ? ” 

Mopsy’s eyes sparkled. 

“ It would be the next best thing to see- 
ing mother well, sir.” 

“It shall be done, then; and your friend 
here may consult with me as to the time and 
place, provided your mother does not object.” 

“ I think it would be far wiser to bestow 
a certain sum on the girl, and let it end 
there,” said the lawyer’s wife ; “ but you 

have peculiar notions in such matters.” 

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders and 
opened a check-book, in which he wrote 
for a moment. One check he handed his 
wife, and the other he offered to Mopsy. 

“ There, my dear, you can go now and 
purchase the chair your mother needs.” 

“ I cannot take your money, sir.” 

“ Nonsense, child ! I owe you ten times 
that amount. If little Bess had been killed 
that day, my only boy would have died 
too ; he has been very ill.” 


99 


The Lawyer's Wife. 

“Yes, take it, little girl ; my son would 
wish you to be paid. I dare say your 
mother will find some use for it,” said the 
wife. 

“ My mother does not allow us to receive 
money from strangers,” said Mopsy. “ I 
only did my duty, sir, and this gentleman 
said you wished to see me. I did not think 
you would pay me for such a little thing ; 
indeed, I cannot take your money.” 

The girl’s flushed face turned eagerly to 
the Captain. 

“Then I must confer with this gentle- 
man, and see how I may be allowed to 
thank you ; surely, I may send your brother 
to school ? ” 

“ If my mother does not object, sir. I 
want Natty to get out of the city in the 
hot weather, and it is not nice for him 
where we are.” 

“ Very well ; your friend may consult 
with your mother, and bring me word as 
to the result. Here, my lad, take this as 


lOO 


Mopsy, 


a little present from me ; boys always know 
how to spend money.” 

Natty’s hand was outstretched to receive 
the crisp bill, when Mopsy laid hers on 
his arm. 

“ No,” she said sternly ; “ mother would 
be sorry. If he can work for you, sir, and 
do any errands for you, to earn it, we 
should be pleased.” 

The lawyer burst into a merry laugh. 
His wife muttered, “ The proud little minx ! ” 
Captain Brown smiled. He was growing 
rather proud of Mopsy, and said mentally, 
“ The child is more noble and womanly 
than my lady acquaintance. It is well that 
this woman does not know me.” 

After some pleasant chat on the part of 
the lawyer and his guests. Captain Brown 
went away with the children. 

“Where are we going now?” asked 
Natty, as they turned into Washington 
Street. 

“To look at the chair your sister has 



“ No ! ” She said, 


“Mother would be Sorry.” 






I 




A 


I. 


% 


• * 


• • 


i 




* 




I 






. w. 





^ » 


• p 

• ; 



7'he Lawyer s Wife, lOi 

spoken of. I am in her debt for board 
and rent, and in time we may be able to 
secure one.” 

They entered a furniture establishment, 
and were ushered into a room where sev- 
eral varieties were seen. 

“ Mother might not be able to use it if 
she had it,” said Mopsy. 

“ We will make provision for that.” 

When Mopsy had selected the style 
which her mother had often thought could 
be used. Captain Brown took the proprie- 
tor aside, and whispered a few words to 
him. 

“ All right,” he said ; “ I will attend to 
it.” 

What the words were Mopsy could only 
guess, for the next day the chair arrived in 
Endicott Street, and was placed by her 
mother’s bed. Two hours later some young 
surgeons came, friends of the Captain’s, 
he said, and Mrs. Howard was gently raised 
into the luxurious cushions. It was a day 


102 


Mopsy, 


of rejoicing ; but the experiment was new, 
and the surgeons were somewhat doubt- 
ful. Two days after, they repeated their 
visit, and this time the chair was gently 
rolled into the large room. 

The boarders were wild with pleasure 
when they heard the good news ; while 
Natty danced about like an Indian. The 
Captain was not there to join in the gen- 
eral rejoicing, but a small bunch of Eng- 
lish violets stood on the invalid’s table. 
When he came into the reading-room that 
night he told Natty that his legal friend 
would send him to a good school as soon 
as his mother saw fit to have him go. 

“ He’s boss,” said Natty ; “ but I hate 
her, — don’t you ? ” 

“ Hardly,” said the Captain. “ We must 
not hate any one, least of all those who 
are related to us.” 

Natty stared. “ Surely the Captain grows 
queerer every day,” he said to Mopsy. 


The Missing Letter. 


103 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE MISSING LETTER. 

“ Something is on the poor man’s mind,” 
said Mrs. Gaffney to Mopsy one day, when 
the Captain left the table without tasting 
his food. 

“ He is tired out running hither and 
thither after Tishy’s father,” said Mopsy. 

“More shame for that; an illegant gin tie- 
man like the Captain needn’t be botherin’ 
his head about such trash as the likes of 
him. Didn’t I rint him the two rooms 
above onct, an’ wasn’t I glad to be rid of 
him, wid his lordly ways and his loud 
talk ? ” 

“ Was his wife nice, Mrs. Gaffney ? ” 

“ She was a fine lady as you’d wish to 
see, and he treated her like a brute, too. 
She was none of his sort at all, an’ how 


1 04 Mopsy. 

he got her for his wife none of us could 
make out ; not even Biddy Brady, who can 
pump the priest himself, and he never 
know it.” 

“ Spud told me something about her ; 
she used to pray with them, and teach 
Spud to read.” 

“ That she did, miss ; she worked wid 
her two hands for ’em both the morning 
she died. It was consumption, you see ; 
she was too pretty to die, if the saints will 
forgive me for sayin’ it ; and a pleasanter- 
spoken lady I never knew, save your own 
mother, miss. The ways of them two is 
something alike.” 

“ Poor Spud ! he loved her so much. 
But Tishy does not seem to mind ; perhaps 
she did not take it all in, as Spud did,” said 
Mopsy, with a glance at Tishy, who was 
playing with a kitten in the next room. 

“ You’re right, miss. She was always 
with Spud. You see, the boy took the 
care, like, and his mother was talkin’ 


The Missing Letter. 105 

wid him often about what he should do. 
Once when she was took wid bleeding at 
the lungs, and I thought she might die, I 
made bold to ask her some questions, and 
she gave me some fine bits of rings to 
go sell for her. She was so proud, poor 
thing, she could not bear to owe a cint 
anywheres. I sold ’em for her ; but I was 
looked at most suspicious like, as if I had 
been stealin’ ’em. She was more comfort- 
able after that ; for the money lasted a 
good bit, and she made me keep it, and 
buy things, for fear he should get it and 
drink it up.” 

“ Did she never tell you anything of 
her family ; anything that might help the 
children, when she was gone ? ” 

Mrs. Gaffney’s tone changed. 

“ I’ve helped them the best I could. It 
was myself sent Spud here to you ; and if 
she has rich folks belongin’ to her, how 
can I tell where to find them?” 

The woman’s evident vexation surprised 


io6 


Mopsy. 


Mopsy. Hitherto, Mrs. Gaffney had always 
been amiable and kind ; now she turned 
impatiently away. 

“ 1 only thought,” said Mopsy in an 
apologizing tone, “ that she might have 
given you a letter to some one, telling 
them to look after her children ; we hear 
of such things, sometimes.” 

“Who says there was a letter?” demanded 
Mrs. Gaffney in an angry tone. “There’s 
some who knows more than the dead.” 

Seeing the girl’s startled face, she added 
quickly, — 

“ Bless your heart, miss ! if those children 
had rich friends to help ’em, and I could 
find ’em, wouldn’t I do it? — wouldn’t I 
have done it long ago?” 

“ I think you would,” said Mopsy ; “ you 
have always been kind to me.” 

Mrs. Gaffney went away mollified ; but 
in the next room a pale little woman pon- 
dered on these things while she watched 
Tishy at play. 


The Missing Letter. 107 

As the warm days grew warmer the in- 
valid brightened, and went day after day 
into the next room, enthroned in her chair. 

One evening the Captain found her there 
as he came from the reading-room with 
some letters he had been writtng. It was 
impossible not to see her, as she sat look- 
ing out of the window directly opposite 
him, and he paused a moment to congrat- 
ulate her on the improvement. 

“ I am gaining every day,” she said, 
“ and Netta is so happy to see me here 
that I am fully repaid for the effort re- 
quired.” 

“ Your physician tells me that you en- 
dure moving much better now ; that the 
gain is slow, but sure.” 

“ I wonder if he can be too sanguine ? ” 
said the invalid, as she looked wistfully 
from her window to the bit of sky just 
visible over the tall housetops. 

“ I think not ; he is very cautious.” 

“ Then I am indeed blessed, and my 


io8 Mopsy. 

dear children need not spend their days in 
this locality.” 

The Captain moved his lips as if about 
to speak ; then he bit them suddenly, and 
went out, merely saying, “ Good-evening.” 

“ Brave little woman,” he said, “ and 
beautiful, too ; a less gifted soul might 
have beaten itself to death against the bars 
of such a cage. Mopsy, or Netta as she 
always calls her, is like her, — quiet and 
resolute.” 

On the stairs he met Mopsy, with Tishy, 
Spud, and Natty. They had been for a walk 
and some books at the Public Library, — 
books carefully selected by Mrs. Howard. 

The Captain paused a moment to chat 
with the children, and examine the titles 
of their new treasures. 

“ Good, every one,” said he ; “ and your 
faces are rosy with the exercise you have 
taken.” 

“ Spud is the only one who gets tired,” 
said Tishy ; “he had to rest.” 


The Missing Letter. 109 

The Captain looked at him earnestly. 
The little thin face was flushed, but the 
eyes were too brilliant for health, and 
somewhat sunken. 

“ Spud, my boy, we must get you into 
the country as soon as possible.” 

“ Not without me ! ” exclaimed Tishy, 
with a vigorous pull, which nearly sent her 
brother backward on the stairs. 

“We will attend to that later. Go into the 
reading-room. Spud, and let Miss Mopsy get 
you a glass of milk ; here is some change 
for it. Natty, can’t you run out for it?” 

“ Yes, sir ; and be back in a jiffy.” 

The Captain turned back with the chil- 
dren ; something in Jamsie’s face drew him 
like a magnet. 

As he entered the room where Mrs. 
Howard was sitting he remarked, — 

“ I met these little tramps coming in, 
and I have ordered Jamsie to lie down ; 
he is not as rugged as the rest, and they 
have outwalked him.” 


I lO 


Mopsy. 


“ Poor boy,” said Mrs. Howard ; “I told 
him last week that he must leave his 
books and live out-of-doors.” 

Yes, Jamsie was tired ; he admitted it 
at last, when he was on the reading-room 
lounge which the Captain had made. There 
were dark lines under his eyes, and a 
weary, worn look about the muscles of 
the mouth, which increased as he threw 
himself down. He rallied a little after he 
had taken the milk ; but his thin hands 
trembled, and his voice was very weak. 

The Captain sent the children away, and 
drew a chair near the boy. 

“Does your head ache?” 

“Sometimes, sir; but I am only tired.” 

“ I see you are. You must remain here 
to-night. That wretched closet of yours 
is not fit for a dog. I did not mean you 
should stay there a day after I saw it.” 

“ Father would be angry if he did not 
find me there.” 

“ Have you seen him this week?” 


The -Missing Letter. 


1 1 1 


“ No, sir ; I wish I knew where he was. 
I have looked for him, everywhere.” 

“ Save your strength for something else, 
boy ; but do not talk. I will read to you, 
after I have bathed your face and hands.” 

He took from his pocket a little vial, and 
poured part of its contents into a mug of 
water which stood near. Then with his 
own handkerchief he bathed the boy’s brow 
and feverish hands. 

“ Close your eyes, Jamsie, and I’ll whistle 
you to sleep, as my servant used to do in 
India. He was a queer fellow, half bar- 
barian, and yet he could be very gentle. 
I was very sick once ; so sick I was given 
up to die, and the last thing I heard when 
I went to sleep was his low, soft, musical 
whistle. Sometimes he used to keep time 
with his fan, sometimes he bathed me as 
I am bathing you now.” 

The boy looked up with a smile. 

“ It makes me think of my mother, sir.” 

“Not the whistling, Jamsie?” 


I 12 


Mopsy. 


“No, sir; the way you touch my head, 
and sometimes you speak like her when 
you are talking to the boys.” 

“ If I should scold you now, and tell you 
to shut those tired eyes, would that be like 
her?” 

“ She never scolded us, sir, never ; he 
does that.” 

“ And beats you, too, sometimes, I am 
afraid, Jamsie?” 

The boy nodded. 

“ Never mind, Jamsie ; I am a kind for- 
tune-teller. Suppose I tell you that those 
wretched days will soon be over ; that 
never again will you be beaten or cold or 
hungry ? ” 

“ That would be heaven, sir. She used 
to talk with me about it. I wouldn’t mind 
going now, if it wasn’t for leaving Tishy.” 

The Captain bent low over the thin, 
pale face. 

Did Spud, the poor and despised son of 
a wretched drunkard, dream that night, or 


The Missing Letter. 1 1 3 

did he indeed hear the Captain say, “ Dear 
boy, dear child, let me make it heaven for 
you here and now.” 

Jamsie did not know whether he dreamed, 
or even slept ; but, ever after, he remem- 
bered a kiss which some one left on his 
tired brow ; and yet, when he waked, the 
Captain sat far away, writing at the table, 
and the daylight was creeping in at the 
windows. 


CHAPTER X. 


A WEALTHY INVALID. 

In a large house on Beacon Street a 
young man was resting on some pillows in 
a reclining-chair. He was evidently pee- 
vish and ill at ease, although surrounded 
with every luxury. 

“ Better try a glass of this cordial,” said 
his wife, whose tone of voice indicated un- 
easiness, if not a slight impatience. 

“ I told you I was sick of it ; why must 
I repeat it a dozen times ? ” 

He did not wait for an answer to his 
question, but continued, — 

“ Father is late ; he is late every day 
now.” 

“ Perhaps he is going to New York to- 
night ; you know he spoke of it.” 

“ I don’t want him to. Why can’t he 


A Wealthy Invalid. 115 

send Barry ? There is no use in having a 
confidential clerk if you can’t trust him.” 

“ Didn’t your father say yesterday that 
Barry was sick with typhoid fever ? ” 

“ I don’t believe it. He is as tough as 
an ox ; it wouldn’t pull him down much.” 

“Is he a married man ? ” 

“ Good heavens, Jennie ! how should I 
know ? A fellow cannot inquire into an- 
other man’s domestic affairs.” 

“ I knew he had been with your father 
since he was a boy. I thought he was 
fond of children, because he sent Bessie 
such a pretty Christmas gift.” 

“ Policy, all policy ; he knows the gov- 
ernor is pleased with any attention to her, 
and he does not lose anything by it.” 

The young woman was silent. She was 
contrasting mentally two men, — her hus- 
band and his father. 

Just as she had decided for the thou- 
sandth time that Harry was exactly like 
his mother, and not in the least like the 


Mopsy, 


1 16 

father, she had learned to love and revere, 
she heard a step on the stairs, and rose to 
open the door. 

“ Here you are, pa,” she said ; “ Harry 
has been fretting for you.” 

The old gentleman kissed her tenderly, 
and then approached his son. 

“Well, boy, better I see; color good, 
eyes clearer, and altogether on the mend.” 

“ I can’t see it,” said the young man. 
“ I am tired of looking forever at the same 
things, and seeing the same faces ; I want 
to get out.” 

“ All in good time ; all in good time. 
Let me see ; if you can stand a drive out 
home on Thursday, you are to go, and 
mother will nurse you up for a while. 
Poor Jennie needs rest.” 

“ She does not do anything ; the nurse 
does everything for me.” 

The old gentleman nodded pleasantly to 
his daughter-in-law. 

“ Now, I think she does a great deal,” 


A Wealthy Invalid. 1 1 7 

said he ; “ only think of it, shut up here for 
nearly three months with you, and not one 
lunch party in all that time. It’s rather 
hard on Jennie, when she and I enjoy our 
freedom and lunch parties especially.” 

“ She can go if she likes.” 

“ Tut, tut ! don’t talk nonsense, boy ; but 
let me tell you some good news. I have 
a new clerk in your place ; a treasure, too. 
Found him by accident. He was the one 
who brought Bessie’s little protector to see 
me, — a born gentleman. I was telling him 
my unfortunate position the other day, with 
you laid up, and Barry on the sick-list, and 
he said, ‘ If I can serve you any by giving 
you a few hours every day for a week or 
two I will do so, as I am quite idle just now 
while waiting for some private business to 
be settled.’ I jumped at the offer at once.” 

“ Better look out ; you know nothing 
about him.” 

“ Nonsense, boy ! I tell you he is a 
gentleman. I knew I had seen him some- 


ii8 


Alopsy. 


where before, so I questioned him, and he 
said, ‘ Oh, yes ; he met me a number of 
years ago when quite young. Didn’t I re- 
member him at the party given by Judge 
Oldson ? I never forget a face, you know ; 
so we get on famously together. He ac- 
complishes a tremendous amount of work, 
and sterns to know by instinct the very 
thing I want.” 

“ Can’t you send him to New York ? ” 

“ I hadn’t thought of it ; in fact, coming 
as he does, I do not like to impose on 
good-nature.” 

“ I wish you would. It’s infernally dull 
here any way ; and how I am to get on 
without you, I don’t see.” 

“Then I’ll speak to Brown about it; he 
could do the business just as well, and I don’t 
want to leave you, if you feel that way.” 

“ That’s clever ; you never did refuse 
me anything, did you ? You won’t be 
sorry for it some day, if I am worthless. 
I feel about played out.” 


A Wealthy Invalid, 119 

“ Don’t talk that way, boy ; don’t. Why, 
we will have you up to the mountains 
soon, and you’ll come home just as you 
have done before, quite made over.” 

“You were right, father, and she was 
wrong; mother meant all right, but a diet 
of pies, candy, nuts, and evening parties 
will not answer for a growing boy. Why 
didn’t you put your foot down and send 
me off to school, where I should have 
taken knocks, and given them ? ” 

“ I couldn’t make your mother unhappy, 
boy; I had promised to do the other thing, 
and I did not understand some things as 
well as I do now.” 

“ There’s one thing I want done when 
I get through with all this fret and worry, 
and that is to have Bessie brought up in 
simple, homely fashion. Let her live out 
in the air, romp, play, and have only the 
simplest food. I have thought about it 
very often since I have* been lying here. 
If I had been trained differently, I should 


1 20 Mopsy. 

be a better man now, and not a fretful 
invalid.” 

The father was much moved, but could 
only say, — 

“If there is anything I can do to make 
you happier in any way, Harry, it shall be 
done ; you have only to ask me, boy.” 

“ I know it, father, and I have been 
thinking of all your goodness ; but you can- 
not straighten the snarls. It has been a 
mistake, all through.” 

“ There is the nurse coming in with 
Bessie,” said the young wife ; “I will go 
and see to her.” * 

“We won’t repeat the blunders with 
Bessie ; this generation has a better chance,” 
said the judge cheerily. 

“ What can we do ? Jennie’s aunt is de- 
termined to control her and our child. Even 
to-day, after all my remonstrances, the little 
thing was loaded down with velvet and lace, 
and sent out for show. My mother spoiled 
me by over-indulgence in eating, and want 


A Wealthy Invalid. 12 1 

of suitable exercise ; now, aunt comes in 
and insists that Bessie must be dressed like 
a doll, taught like a parrot, and sent out 
daily on parade. If my ideas are carried 
out, I must contend with wife and aunt, 
I suppose.” 

“ Could you go away for a few months 
with me, Harry, and let Jennie take a 
journey ; she needs brightening up ? ” 

“ Aunt would claim mother and child.” 

“ No ; let us take Bessie with us. Your 
invalid condition warrants that indulgence.” 

“ Where could we go ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; * we can find a place. 
Your mother will join Jennie and her aunt, 
and we will take the little girl and nurse 
to some simple country home, where she 
will have a fair chance to grow for a few 
months at least.” 

“And after that, father?” 

“ ‘ Wait and see,’ as Brown says. We 
only live a day at a time. You must know 
Brown ; he has travelled everywhere, knows 


122 


Mopsy. 


everybody, and is a perfect philosopher, 
ni ask him about a place ; he told me 
yesterday that he was arranging a little 
rest for an invalid friend.” 

“ Better talk with Jennie about our plan, 
father ; I am sorry for the poor girl. She 
has a hard time of it trying to serve two 
masters ; and she is very fond of Bessie 
in her way, although she is quite willing 
to go to Europe with her aunt, and leave 
her to the care of hirelings.” 

“ We must make due allowance for a 
girl brought up as she was,” said his father. 

“ Do you remember Isa, father ? ” 

“Every day — almost every hour.” 

“ Could any training have made her self- 
ish ? ” 

“Poor girl! poor pet I she was as dear 
to me as you are, Harry.” 

“ Father, some time before I die I want 
you to tell me why you sent her away.” 

“I — sent — her — away ? Are you dream- 
ing ? ” 


A Wealthy Invalid. 


123 


No, sir ; my mother told me so ! For 
my good, she said.” 

“ I sent her away — my pretty Isa, as 
dear to me as an own daughter ? Why, 
boy, I have spent money freely to find her, 
and at last heard she was dead. I loved 
that girl — loved her as my own.” 

‘‘So did I, father?” 

“ You, Harry ? As a sister, boy ? ” 

“As the dearest woman on earth. I was 
never reckless until then. Do you remem- 
ber, father ? ” 

The son leaned wearily on his pillows, 
and his large dark eyes were full of tears. 

The father arose, and laid his hand on 
the head of his invalid son. 

“ There, Harry ! ” he said ; “ you have 
talked too much, and I am dazed and tired. 
I will run in again to-day.” 


124 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE CRISIS. 

The wealthy lawyer left his son’s house 
in a perturbed state of mind. Either he 
had been terribly deceived or his brain 
was disordered. 

“ Blind, stupid fool that I am ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ Why have I let misery reign 
where all should be happiness? Here am 
I ranked as a lawyer of ability, and yet 
events transpire in my own household which 
an ordinary police officer would manage 
better. I will not go home just now. I 
have always maintained that a man should 
carry a pleasant face and leave cares be- 
hind him when he enters his own door, and 
I am unsettled now. I will send word 
that I am detained.” 

His first impulse was to go at once to 


The Crisis, 


125 


his wife, and learn from her how much she 
knew of the past ; but reflection taught 
him that her statement to his son would 
not make her testimony valuable. 

“ I will go to the office again, and find 
Brown. Perhaps he will tell me something 
suitable for Harry ; and the boy must be 
taken away. A heartache with all the rest 
of it, poor boy ! No wonder he got into all 
sorts of scrapes ; no wonder he refused to 
take me into his confidence.” 

On his way to Court Street, the lawyer 
met an old client who was in great trouble 
and required his counsel. 

“ I am a little upset myself just now,” 
said he ; “ but come into the office and 

talk it over.” 

“Is Harry worse ? ” 

“ Not exactly ; and yet he is so dis- 
heartened, and has been talking of death. 
It makes me wretched to see the boy so.” 

“Why don’t you send him to Europe?” 

“ Been once ; it did not help him. Money 


126 


Mopsy. 


is poor trash when you see your only child 
going away from you, and find yourself 
helpless.” 

“ Your money furnishes him with every 
luxury, Judge; and when you have seen 
people dying without even the necessaries 
of life, as I often do, you will thank Heaven 
for its kindness to you.” 

“ I know ; I know. But here we are ; 
come in and let us talk it over. 

“Has Mr. Brown gone, Upton?” he 
asked of a young man in the outer office. 

“ Yes, sir ; went about an hour since.” . 

“ Will he come back ? ” 

“ I think not, sir ; he carried some papers 
with him.” 

“ Too bad ; I wanted you to meet Brown. 
He is one of the men you like to sit down 
with now and then for a genuine intellectual 
feast. Oh, here is a note from him ! ” 

“ If I am not in early to-morrow you will know that 
I am nursing a little motherless lad who needs me. 
In order to further your work I will finish the papers 


The Crisis. 


27 


you were anxious to have done, while watching with 
the child to-night. Will return them early in the 
morning by special messenger.” 

“Just like him; he never spares himself,” 
said the lawyer. “ I wish I knew what sort 
of a place he creeps into down there, and 
I would hunt him up ; but let us hear your 
worries now.” 

It was quite late when the story was 
told and the needed assistance given, after 
which both men went to their homes, 
neither light of heart nor cheerful, despite 
position, wealth, and fame. 

While they are trying to sleep, let us look 
once more into the little reading-room, which 
is now painfully silent. 

The boys are no longer there, making 
merry with books and games ; but, prostrate 
on the bed-lounge, is little Spud, or Jamsie 
as the Captain calls him. 

The child is very ill ; his breathing shows 
it, and the presence of a physician confirms 
it. The Captain is watching anxiously. 


128 


Mopsy. 


while the child’s restless fingers pick and 
pull at the sheet above him. 

“ He talks more than usual to-night,” said 
the doctor. 

“ Yes ; I left him a little while to-day, and 
a good-natured woman here in the house 
tried to act as nurse while Miss Howard 
was busy. I cannot find out exactly what 
happened, but her presence had something 
to do with this mental disturbance.” 

“ Does Miss Howard know ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

“ I questioned her, and she tells me 
that she knew nothing of it until she 
heard Mrs. Gaffney calling him a dear, 
dying lamb, that couldn’t speak to forgive 
her.” 

“ And the woman ? ” 

“ There I am puzzled again ; she re- 
fuses to say anything, save that she was 
overcome like, and cried a bit, seeing him 
here so like his mother.” 

“ This must not occur again,” said the 


The Crisis. 


129 


doctor. “ He seems to know you and 
cling to you. Can you manage to stay 
with him constantly for two or three days, 
until the crisis is past ? ” 

“ His care is my first duty now,” said 
the Captain, as he gently stroked the 
boy’s brown hair. 

“ I want the letter, mamma, mamma ! 
Oh, where is it ? Don’t hurt her, Tishy. 
Captain, O Captain,” murmured the uncon- 
scious sufferer. 

“ Better speak to him ; your voice con- 
trols him,” said the doctor. 

“ I am here, Jamsie, close by, and all 
is well.” 

“ Captain, dear Captain, don’t let Mrs. 
Gaffney take me — father, don’t strike me 
again, don’t — oh, my head ! — where’s 
Tishy ? I can’t get the whiskey, father ; 
don’t beat me ! O mother, mother ! the 
letter, the letter ! ” 

Thus the poor little sufferer raved for 
long, weary hours. About daybreak he 


130 Mopsy, 

fell into a stupor, and the thin lips grew 
whiter and whiter. 

“ I have done wrong,” said the Captain, 
as he bent over to moisten his brow. “ I 
should have taken him away at once, and 
now I am punished.” 

“I do not agree with you,” said the 
doctor ; “ if ever a man has fought to right 
the evil done by others you have. I am 
sometimes tempted to expose your secret, 
and let you receive the reward.” 

“You could not do that, Rob. We were 
boys together, and you gave your promise ; 
as a man of honor, you must keep it until 
I see my way clear.” 

Never fear, old boy ; I should not 
be sharing this vigil with you if I did not 
honor you above any friend in the world, 
save my mother. I have longed to tell 
her ; she could do so much to help you, 
and give you a bit of comfort besides.” 

“All a tangle, a tangle,” murmured the 
sick boy. 


The Crisis. 


“ Poor little Spud ! It has been a cruel 
tangle for you,” said the Captain ; “ but, 
please God, there shall be a bit of the 
kingdom of heaven and peace to your 
tired little feet.” 

“ What do you intend to do with your 
wards ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ Wait until the legal questions are settled 
and this poor child can be moved. Then I 
will show you.” 

“Then will you allow me to introduce 
my mother to my old chum?” 

“ Provided he is discreet.” 

“Thank you. Let me show you that I 
am. You have not slept for three nights; 
go and rest now, while I watch my patient 
until Miss Howard is astir.” 

“ I could not sleep. Doctor, until the 
crisis is past.” 

“ You cannot alter the decree.” 

“ No ; but I am at hand if he calls. Think 
of it. Doctor, dying, perhaps, without one 
friend near, one parting word if she” — 


132 


Mopsy. 


“ Hush, Jack ! don’t think of it. You 
could not help it, and you are brooding 
over it until your hair is growing white.” 

“Oh, no, I do not brood; it has passed 
for her, and I must have the bitter knowl- 
edge.” 

“Those who caused her to suffer should 
bear the bitterness alone, and yet you 
would reward good for evil.” 

“She would wish it.” 

“Is the boy very like her. Jack?” 

“ The girl is more so in looks, but less 
in temperament.” 

“ She must have been quite young. Jack.” 

“Yes, in years ; but in sorrow, misery, 
wretchedness, abuse, and suffering — think 
of it ! Think of her calls for me unan- 
swered, her cries unheeded ! ” 

“ I beg you not to think of it ! You 
must get our of this atmosphere at once. 
Your search is ended ; now rest content. If 
you dwell on her "wrongs continually you 
will unfit yourself for the care of these 


The Crisis. 


133 


little folks who need you so much. I 
should demand justice, take the property 
due, and put myself far from them all.” 

Two things deter me. Doctor.” 

“ What, pray ? ” 

“ The helpless woman in the next room, 
and the man who was kind to me in my 
boyhood. I blamed him once, but not now. 
One end of the tangle is in my hand ; and 
I know that he has suffered, is suffering 
even now. With all his wealth, all his 
fame, and with hosts of friends, he yet 
carries a sore heart, if I read correctly ; and 
for his sake and for hers, I must wait and 
be patient.” 

“ And bury yourself in the slums mean- 
while.” 

“Oh, no! Remember your own poet’s 
words : — 

“ ‘ For God, who loveth all His works, 

Has left His Hope with all.’” 


134 


Mopsy, 


CHAPTER XII. 

LIKE THAT OF THE DEAD.’^ 

“ Look out for your young nurse, Cap- 
tain,” said the doctor one morning; “she 
is looking fagged and weary.” 

“ I spoke of it yesterday. Her mother 
thinks it the result of her anxiety concerning 
Jamsie ; she is very fond of him, and would 
nurse him, but I shall forbid it henceforth.” 

“ How old is she ? ” 

“ Fifteen, yesterday. The boys intended 
to make it a grand festival, but this sick- 
ness upset their plans.” 

“ She looks like a girl of eighteen when 
she is sitting quietly ; she has a very mature 
face.” 

“ And a mature mind as well. Poor girl ! 
her life is a history, marvellous and yet 
true.” 


''Like That of the Dead!^ 135 

“ They seem to be people of refinement. 
I am always struck with the elegant manner 
of the mother.” 

“ You were surprised to find such a 
woman in such a place as this ? ” 

“ Well, no ; nothing surprises me, nowa- 
days. When I am wealthy I shall write a 
dozen novels, every one* solid truth; and 
the dear reading public will say, ‘ How sen- 
sational ! ’ Tell me Mrs. Howard’s history, 
and I will give you half the profits of each 
book.” 

“ A reward which will not expand my 
treasury unless you find some publisher 
who does not claim five-sixths of the 
profits.” 

“ Well, let us have the story.” 

“ I am not sure that I know it myself ; 
I am unwinding one of poor Jamsie’s 
‘ tangles.’ ” 

“ What a genius for mysteries you pos- 
sess. Well, promise me this, — if the 
princess proves to be a real princess, and 


136 


Mopsy. 


4 


the daughter of a wealthy heiress, promise, 
on your honor, to remind her of the days 
when I, a poor pill pedler, served her to 
the best of my ability. Let me at least 
have a share of the spoils” — 

The Captain smiled. 

“There,” exclaimed the doctor suddenly, 
“ that is the first smile I have seen on 
your face for weeks ! Really, my friend, 
you will soon become famous as the man 
who never laughs.” 

“The old spirit is not dead, believe me; 
when one tangle is successfully unwound 
you will find me a very boy at heart.” 

“ Good ! and may I be there to see ; 
meantime, look after the daughter of the 
princess. She needs something outside of 
this worry and work, or I shall have 
another patient.” 

“ I will act at once,” said the Captain, 
as his friend went out from the sick-room. 

Half an hour later, the Captain was seen 
conversing with Mrs. Gaffney on the lower 


''Like That of the Deady 137 

floor ; and before night, with Mrs. Howard’s 
full consent, a stout, capable woman was in- 
stalled in the room as cook, dish-washer, and 
general worker, under Mopsy’s direction. 

“I do not feel tired,” said the girl, 
when told of the new plan ; “ now that 
poor Spud knows me, and takes a little 
food, I feel much better.” 

Nevertheless, she was seen to pause 
twice on the stairs to rest that day, and 
the next morning the doctor took her with 
him for a drive to Cambridge, where he 
had a patient to visit. 

“ If you would let me help a little, I 
should feel more comfortable,” said Mrs. 
Howard, as the Captain passed through 
the room to prepare some ice for his 
patient. 

“ What would you like to do ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I might have my chair rolled into the 
next room, and take your place for an hour 
or two each day.” 


Mopsy. 


138 

“Would it not weary you to moisten 
the boy’s lips and soothe him when he is 
restless ? ” 

“Not more than it would weary me to 
see you and Netta constantly at work, and 
as you have supplied help in the cooking 
department I shall have more leisure.” 

“Suppose I tax you to-day? I wish to 
see my legal friend for an hour or two on 
important business, and Jamsie is sleeping. 
Could you sit there, do you think?” 

“ I am sure of it, and it would rest me 
to see his poor little face once more.” 

“ Very well ; we will arrange it.” 

He cracked the ice with his own hands, 
and drew the little table near Jamsie’s bed. 
On this, he placed the medicine and cool- 
ing drinks ; also a little bell ; then, with an 
almost reverent touch, he slowly guided the 
invalid’s chair over the portal, and rolled it 
close to the boy. 

He did not realize that she had not seen 
him before. He was not conscious of the 


I^ike That of the Deadr 139 

shock she would receive when she saw his 
wasted frame. Her eyes were closed as 
they always were when she was moved, in 
order to avoid an unpleasant sensation 
which she could not now control. 

“ Tell me if I am not moving you prop- 
erly,” said the Captain ; “ I am a novice, 
you know, and my friend, the doctor, is an 
expert.” 

“ Quite right,” she answered feebly ; for 
as yet all motion was agony. 

There you are,” he said, “ at last ; and 
now you can touch Jamsie’s hand readily.” 

He looked in her face to read her pleas- 
ure, but saw it white as marble. 

“I have been too harsh,” he thought; “I 
feared it ; but some wine will refresh her.” 

He poured it into a dainty glass which 
he had near for Jamsie, and held it to her 
lips. 

She drank it with difficulty, and tried to 
thank him. 

‘‘ Pardon me,” he said ; “ I thought I 


140 


Mopsy. 


was a careful nurse, but I have hurt you 
cruelly. Henceforth, we will wait for our 
physician.” 

“It was not that,” she said ; “I saw the 
boy’s face, and it was so like that of the 
dead.” 

“Ah, he is mending now; two days ago 
he was, indeed, like one dead. Now we 
feed him often, and he knows us.” 

As he spoke, the boy opened his eyes, 
and the Captain moistened his lips. 

“ He has slept a trifle too long for one 
so weak.” 

“ Captain,” said the boy feebly. 

“ Yes, Jamsie.” 

“ Where is Tishy ? ” 

“ Gone into the country with a friend of 
mine. Natty is with her.” 

He closed his eyes again, but soon 
opened them to say, — 

“ Mamma, are you there ? ” 

Mrs. Howard had taken his hand in 
hers. 


''Like That of the Dead!' 14 1 

Neither of the watchers could answer his 
question. He moved his eyes feebly about ; 
he saw the invalid in her chair, her sweet, 
expressive face touched with tenderness. 

“ The princess,” he said with a faint 
smile. 

“ Yes, Jamsie ; she is your nurse now,” 
said the Captain. 

While he was still conscious, Mopsy came 
in and stood beside him. The fresh air had 
given her unusual color, and her beautiful 
hair had half escaped from the simple net 
in which she wore it. 

“ Like a painting,” said Jamsie, as he 
closed his eyes once more. 

“ He is still delirious,” said Mopsy anx- 
iously. 

The Captain turned to look at her. 

“ No,” said he gravely, “ he is quite 
sane ; and if you will take my place I will 
go now and attend to the business I spoke 
of to your mother.” 

“ How delightful it is to see you here. 


142 


Mopsy. 


mamma,” said Netta, as soon as they were 
alone ; “ did the doctor advise it ? ” 

“ No, the Captain permitted it ; I was 
anxious to do something for our poor boy.” 

“ And now you can come every day, 
mamma; and you need not help me with 
those horrid potatoes, nor do any more dirty 
work with your pretty hands. The woman 
is doing everything so well; and she says 
she loves to do for us.” 

“ Why for us, Netta ? ” 

“Don’t you know? She is Inky’s mother. 
She has been at the Industrial Home, and 
knows how to do things properly. The 
Captain told Mrs. Gaffney that we must 
have some experienced person, and she 
sent him down there. Now, mamma, we 
can get another half-hour to read every 
day.” 

“ But we must not talk in this room, 
daughter ; our little friend needs perfect 
quiet.” 

“Where has the Captain gone, mamma?” 


''Like That of the Dead!' 143 

“ To consult with his legal friend, he 
said ; his business must have suffered since 
Jamsie’s illness.” 

“ What a busy man he is ! He writes 
such quantities of letters, and many of 
them are foreign ones. Perhaps he has a 
family abroad, and makes himself happy 
while they are gone, by working for others. 
Is not he good, mamma ? ” 

“ Very good to us all, dear.” 

“ The doctor says he is one of the 
noblest men he ever knew, and he has 
seen great sorrows for one so young.” 

“ I thought so,” said Mrs. Howard 
quietly. 


144 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

“ Then you do not like my plan ? ” said 
the lawyer, after he had spent an hour in 
his private room with our friend the Cap- 
tain. 

“I should like to consider it more fully; 
it would be almost impossible to decide, 
without seeing the parties.” 

“ The very thing I want you to do ; it 
would cheer my boy up, immensely. Will 
you come with me for a call on the poor 
fellow ? He has club friends, and all that 
sort of thing ; but he needs some wise, judi- 
cious friend to rouse him ; he is morbid, 
nervous, fanciful.” 

The Captain hesitated. 

“ I know I am very selfish in this matter, 
but you are too young to understand it. 


Husband and Wife, 


H5 


You see, the poor boy was thwarted in 
his love affairs, — not my fault. Heaven 
knows, — and — well, in fact, he is anything 
but happy, although he has a dear little 
wife, who is devoted to him, and, I think, 
really loves him. Her aunt made the 
match, with some assistance from his 
mother, and everything seemed all right 
until lately. It would be a comfort to me 
if you would call.” 

“That settles it, then,” said the Captain. 
“ I will go with you to-morrow.” 

“ Thank you. Brown ; I can’t tell why it 
is, but you were sent here just at the 
right time. There are moments when a 
man feels as if the earth were sinking from 
under his feet, and there were nothing for 
him to catch hold of. That has been my 
case ever since Harry told me how he felt ; 
and if I thought I could make him hap- 
pier, I would throw up my private busi- 
ness and go to the ends of the earth with 
him. I should like to feel that I had sue- 


1 46 Mopsy. 

ceeded in making one person happy in this 
world.” 

“ You have not many relatives, then ? ” 

“ Nearly all gone, Brown. I had two 
children in my family, at one time, as dear 
to me as Harry ; but they have gone too.” 

The Captain rose to leave. 

“ I will join you to-morrow, sir, and call 
on your son ; and if I can serve you in 
any way, command me. It is not pleas- 
ant to feel that one’s dearest friends are 
slipping away beyond our recall.” 

“ Pleasant ? Why, man, I have some- 
times felt like one standing alone in a 
graveyard ; and yet the world counts me 
a happy and fortunate fellow.” 

“ The world can detect gray hairs, but 
cannot see the scars on human hearts,” 
said the Captain. 

“You are too young to know it, my 
friend ; but, Heaven bless you, I feel 
better now for this chat. I am to speak 
at a big dinner to-night, and not a soul 


Husband and Wife, 147 

will dream that I know either sorrow or 
care.” 

They bade each other good-by like old 
and dear friends, with a warm hand-grasp ; 
then the Captain went his way, once more, 
to the sick-room. 

Jamsie was mending, so slowly that the 
watchers scarcely dared hope ; and yet he 
gained. He roused a little one day when 
they told him Tishy was happy in her 
country home, that she sang like a bird, 
and was saving endless treasures, even to 
bits of cake, for dear Jamsie. So Natty 
wrote, and Natty’s letters were curios. 

“ Shall I ever go ? ” Jamsie asked. 

“ When I can bundle you up like a 
mummy,” was the Captain’s reply. 

“ It is too warm for that.” 

“ Not when you are transporting bones,” 
said the Captain, smiling. 

The next day, both gentlemen were seated 
in Harry Hunt’s beautiful room, where the 
invalid endeavored to appear cheerful. 


148 


Mopsy, 


“How would it please you to have some 
one come in and read to you for an hour 
every day?’’ asked the Captain, after they 
had discussed various topics. 

“ Immensely, if he could read well and 
found the right sort of literature — not too 
simple or profound.” 

“ A little friend of mine is a beautiful 
reader ; she has had good experience in 
reading aloud to an invalid mother.” 

“I wish I were, for Harry’s sake,” said 
the young wife ; “ but I think it is a 
special gift. It tires us both when I read 
aloud.” 

Her frank, unostentatious manner pleased 
the Captain. 

“ It is, as you say, a special gift, and my 
little friend certainly is endowed with it. I 
think you would like her.” 

“Is she neat and refined?” asked the 
sick man. “ I am horribly sensitive. If 
her fingernails were not well kept, I should 
not hear a word of the book.” 


Husband and Wife. 


149 


“She is very neat; a little lady, in fact. 
Your father has seen her.” 

“ Where, Brown ? ” 

“ She called at your office with me.” 

“Not the pretty girl who saved our 
Bessie? ” 

“ The very same.” 

“ By Jove, Harry ! we must have her ; 
she is quite a beauty, and proud too.” 

“A North End beauty,” said the sick 
man with a half-sneer. “ However, I owe 
her more than I can well pay, and if she 
chooses to try, well and good.” 

“ I will request her to come, on one con- 
dition,” said the Captain. 

“ Name it.” 

“ That not one word is said to her rela- 
tive to the rescue of your child ; she dis- 
likes to hear it mentioned.” 

“ Most people would parade it.” 

“ Miss Howard is a lady by birth, and 
should be treated as such, although she 
is but fifteen,” said the Captain with dignity. 


Mopsy. 


150 

“ Don’t mind Harry ; he is a trifle touchy 
since his sickness. The young lady will win 
them all in an hour’s time ; and I should like 
to have our little Bess know her preserver.” 

“ She will insist on knowing her when she 
is older, if she is like her mother,” said Mrs. 
Hunt. 

“Don’t be sentimental, Jennie,” said her 
husband. 

“ I should like to be grateful,” was the 
quiet reply. 

“You see how it is,” said the lawyer, 
when the gentlemen were once more in the 
street. “ They do not understand each other. 
Now, I am very fond of Jennie. Her aunt 
is a cold-blooded, exacting, ambitious woman. 
She has done her best to spoil the girl, 
and the poor thing has a hard time of it, 
among them all. You know now why I 
wanted to get the boy away from them and 
give him a chance.” 

“To separate them now, even for a sea- 
son, would increase the difhculty.” 


Husband arid Wife. 


151 


“What would you recommend?” 

“ That the aunt be induced to go else- 
where, and our young friends put in a posi- 
tion where your son must see the best side 
of his wife’s character. A great many men 
need an introduction to their own wives.” 

“You talk like a man of fifty.” 

“ I have been a keen observer, sir.” 

“ How would you bring about this result?” 

“ I would first, as I said, dispose of the 
aunt in the kindliest manner possible. I 
would then rent for the summer a neat little 
cottage among the hills, where only one 
servant would be required. This would give 
your daughter new duties and experiences; 
your son would have something to divert 
him in caring for his child.” 

The lawyer pondered a moment. 

“I think I see a way out,” he said at last. 
“Mrs. Craft, the aunt, is spending a few 
days with my wife ; and, only yesterday, both 
ladies said they would go abroad this sum- 
mer, were it not for poor Harry. I will get 


Mopsy. 


152 

the doctor to order the thing you prescribe 
for the boy, and send the ladies to Europe.” 

“ Very well ; when you have done so, I 
will secure a nest for you ; I know the 
very spot, all furnished ready to step into, 
and close by one I have control of. 
Meantime, Miss Howard will act as reader 
for a few days.” 

“‘I won’t try to thank you. Brown. You 
know how I feel in this matter. I shouldn’t 
mind claiming you for a son myself. At 
all events, I can envy your father.” 

“ I have neither father nor mother, sir.” 

“ The deuce take my blundering ! Well, 
Brown, you have proved a good angel to 
me and mine.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said the Captain, as 
he walked away, saying softly to himself, 
“ He who saves a soul has saved his 


own. 


Beacon Street and the North End. 153 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BEACON STREET AND THE NORTH END. 

When Mopsy first heard the proposal 
that she should read daily to a sick gentle- 
man, she hesitated, and secretly wished she 
might spend every moment with her mother 
and little Spud. 

The girl had grown wonderfully light of 
heart since her mother’s improvement and 
Natty’s removal; her cares seemed so much 
lighter, even with Spud lying there pale 
and helpless. It was such a comfort to 
have some one to scrub and clean, some 
one to make the huge loaves of bread 
which must be made every day. 

Mopsy had not known rest nor quiet 
since that terrible accident, and she smiled 
now as she thought of quiet in connection 
with her small army of boarders. Some 


154 


Mopsy. 


of the boys had followed the example of 
Mose and Inky, and found work outside 
of the city ; but a number of young men 
came now regularly for dinner, thus in- 
creasing work as well as the income from 
work. 

The days were so long now, that Mopsy 
did not mind rising earlier ; and, under her 
mother’s systematic direction, all worked 
well, with plenty of time for reading and 
for the lessons which were so dear to the 
girl. 

The Captain had mentioned the subject 
of reading to Mrs. Howard while her 
daughter was out ; and the good lady saw 
at once three things to be gained, — a de- 
sirable change for Netta, an opportunity to 
acquire confidence in herself, which she 
greatly lacked, and the benefit to a suffer- 
ing man. The pecuniary benefit did not 
occur to her until the Captain mentioned it. 

“ I am afraid that I am not mercenary,” 
said she with a little laugh. “You see, I 


Beacon Street and the North End. 155 

never admit for one moment that we are 
poor ; and, since Netta’s successful business 
venture, we really need so few things.” 

“ I discovered long since that money 
value stood for less with you than with 
most people. The family can well afford 
to pay a fair price, and Miss Howard will 
earn it. The gentleman is peevish, exact- 
ing, and may possibly annoy her ; but his 
physical condition must excuse it. If your 
daughter can tolerate him, I know she will 
do him good, and in a few weeks the poor 
fellow may be able to get into the country.” 

Mopsy came in while they were talking, 
and was duly informed concerning the new 
plan. 

“ I am afraid I could not read before a 
strange gentleman,” said she. 

The Captain smiled. 

“ I mean,” said the girl, blushing, “ that 
it would be hard to do so in a strange 
place ; here, for you and mother and little 
Spud, one does not mind.” 


Mopsy, 


156 

“ Thank you ; and just these readings 
convinced me that you could do a great 
kindness to a poor suffering man and a 
very tired lady, by doing, for one hour 
every day, exactly the thing you do so 
well here for several hours without any 
apparent fatigue.” 

“ Oh, I love to read.” 

“Exactly, and my poor friend will doubt- 
less enjoy hearing you.” 

“ Then, if mamma approves, I will go.” 

Mamma did approve, and the next morn- 
ing Mopsy finished her home duties and 
went away with the Captain, who only 
remained long enough to put into her 
hands a small volume, and then bade her 
good-by. 

It was quite a successful reading, al- 
though Mopsy felt uncomfortable under 
the sick man’s steady gaze. 

The Captain had selected for the first 
day a lively, absurd story, which must hold 
the hearers’ attention, and also display the 


Beacon Street and the North End, 157 

reader’s powers. He had heard Mopsy 
read it aloud to the boys one evening, and 
he knew her familiarity with it would lead 
her to forget herself. 

Mrs. Hunt sat nearly behind her hus- 
band’s chair, where she might watch his 
face without being seen ; and as the read- 
ing went on she saw that the discontented 
expression was fast leaving his face. 

“ What a blessing it will be,” she said, 
mentally, “ if this continues to please him ! ” 

The hour was up, and Mopsy prepared 
to close her book after one glance at the 
handsome clock on the mantel. 

“ Don’t go yet,” said the sick man ; 
“ why, you haven’t fairly got under way.” 

“ I must not tire you, sir ; but, if it 
really rests you, I will stay longer to- 
morrow.” 

“Yes; your voice is very pleasant — a 
million times better than some of the peo- 
ple who set themselves up for profession- 
als. You must have had fine training.” 


158 


Mopsy, 


“ Only my mother, sir.” 

“Only! By Jove I when a mother can 
teach her own children, college professors 
may stand aside. Jennie, can’t you order 
some lunch for Miss Howard?” 

“ With pleasure, dear.” 

But Miss Howard would not remain. 
She did, however, consent to accept the 
dainty basket of fruit which Mrs. Hunt 
sent her mother, with her thanks. 

“ For you see, dear,” she said, “ I am 
greatly indebted to her for letting you 
come. My poor husband often grows so 
despondent that we do not know what to 
do for him ; and you have really brightened 
him up.” 

“ I am very glad,” said Mopsy with gen- 
uine feeling ; “ it is such a comfort to do 
anything for a sick person.” 

Mrs. Hunt herself waited upon Mopsy 
to the door, and there kissed her good-by. 

“ Poor woman,” said Mopsy, “ she kissed 
me as if she really cared for me, just be- 


Beacon Street and the North Ertd, 159 

cause I gave her sick husband a little 
pleasure.” 

Mopsy did not know that the little child 
whose life she had saved was even then 
playing in the room above, nor did she 
know that Mr. Hunt, leaning wearily on 
his pillows, said to his wife that very day, — 

“ Jennie, I wish you would help me think 
of something sensible and practical to do 
for that young girl. It is a swindling shame 
for such a pretty creature to live at the 
North End.” 

“We might take her into our own fam- 
ily,” said the wife. 

“ That is just like your womanish reason- 
ing. Hasn’t she an invalid mother? I tell 
you it makes a man feel uncomfortable to 
think of a delicate, pretty girl in that sort 
of place. Why, our own child might be 
reduced to some such strait if anything 
should happen to us.” 

“ Oh, don’t, Harry ! You fairly make me 
shudder.” 


i6o 


Mopsy. 


“ If our fortune or my father’s should take 
wings, or your stocks should depreciate, 
where should we be, I should like to 
know ? ” 

“ Don’t distress yourself with such fancies, 
dear,” said his wife, tenderly stroking his hair. 

“ Please stop that ; I have told you a 
thousand times that it makes me nervous 
to have you touch my head.” 

“ I beg your pardon, dear ; it always rests 
me.” 

There was the faintest echo of a sigh 
following these words ; but the little woman 
had made up her mind, long since, to do 
everything for him — everything, and bear 
all things patiently ; then, there would be 
nothing to regret if the worst came. How 
many times she had left that chamber to 
sink upon her knees in the next room and 
weep bitterly while she prayed, only the 
recording angel knew. 

“ Auntie must never know,” she said to 
herself ; “ dear, patient, generous Father 


Beacon Street and the North End. i6i 


Hunt must not even guess, and I must bear 
it alone, — all the sneers, taunts, impatience, 
rudeness. Harry did not mean it, of course ; 
he was sick, poor fellow, and then his mother 
has made him selfish. What could one ex- 
pect of an only child, indulged and humored 
to the last degree ? I must guard against it 
with Bessie. As soon as Harry is better I 
will invite other children to pass some time 
with her every day ; and I will teach her to 
think of others. I will ask Miss Howard 
about her mother ; perhaps she can tell me 
something. All my life long I have lived 
in Boston, and heard of the want, suffering, 
sin, and misery at the North End, and yet 
I never saw it.” 

“ Harry,” said the wife, after a few mo- 
ments’ silence, “ do you think it would be 
proper for me to call on Miss Howard’s 
mother ? ” 

“ Good heavens, Jennie ! what new freak 
has taken you ? No ; Miss Howard’s mother 
would probably be offended, and there’s no 


i 62 


Alopsy. 


telling what shocking diseases you might 
contract. Fancy you down there, with your 
carriage and diamonds ! You are foolishly 
absurd ! ” 

“ Perhaps so,” was the brief reply. 


Hearts and Diamonds. 163 


CHAPTER XV. 

HEARTS AND DIAMONDS. 

Judge Hunt and his son were lunching 
together in cosey fashion. Mrs. Hunt had 
prepared the repast with her own hands, 
and then stolen away. No one knew bet- 
ter how to arrange dainty dishes in a tempt- 
ing array, or to prepare nice tidbits for a 
capricious appetite ; but three months is a 
long time, and the finest e/ie/ in the world 
must sometimes repeat an order. 

“ I wish you would come up to lunch to- 
morrow,” she had said on Sunday, as her 
father-in-law left the house. “ Come in and 
surprise Harry ; it will brighten him up, 
and he will not have time to find fault with 
his food.” 

“ I shall certainly come, my dear,” re- 
plied the lawyer; “and I want to say. 


164 


Mopsy. 


here and now, that you have shown won- 
derful tact and skill since my boy has been 
down. I shall never forget it, little woman, 
never.” 

“O father, do you really think so?” she 
asked, with large tears in her tired eyes. 
“ I sometimes despair. You see, nothing 
is ever quite right ; sometimes, he seems 
to detest my very presence, and” — 

“Poor child, poor little girl! Yes, yes, I 
know ; a woman needs the meekness of a 
dove and the patience of an angel to get 
on with the best man that ever lived. We 
are cranky animals, dear, and abominably 
rude to those we love best. Don’t mind. 
Pussy, don’t mind ; but tell me, what is it 
about your wanting to go to Europe and 
leave Bessie ? ” 

“ I, father ? ” 

“ Yes ; Harry told me.” 

“ Oh, auntie and he had not been good 
friends for a day or two, and he said he 
wished he could have Bessie all to him- 


Hearts a7id Diamonds, 


165 

self, and go away somewhere where he 
could train her to be a decent woman,” 

“ And Bessie’s mother ? ” 

“ I said if I thought he would be hap- 
pier, I would go to Europe or somewhere; 
and I would, father, only I don’t think I 
could live long without my baby.” 

“ Of course you couldn’t. See here, 
Pussy, I have a little plan partly laid out 
for you and Harry. Brown proposed it ; 
and he has a genius for making every one 
happy. Don’t breathe a word of it, not 
even to your aunt, and we shall see what 
we shall see. Good-by, Pussy ; I want to 
see your face as plump and rosy as it 
used to be.” 

“ Harry says I have faded, horribly, and 
I suppose I have,” said the little wife with 
a faint smile. 

“ Confound his impudence, if he is my 
boy ! ” said the old lawyer. “ I tell you 
what it is, Jennie, I should like to have 
some new statute which should punish 


i66 


Mopsy. 


every man who resorted to negative abuse 
of the woman he has promised to love and 
cherish. Why, women die every year from 
it ! and if one of them does not chance to 
have her throat cut or a bullet in her brain, 
they call it a disease. I tell you, little 
girl, there are things which stab one to 
the heart besides knives, more’s the pity.” 

The young wife was sitting beside him 
with her hand in his. As he spoke she 
withdrew it and touched his cheek caress- 
ingly, saying, — 

“Dear father, how well you know! I 
thought only women knew.” 

He drew her gently to him, and laid her 
head on his shoulder, leaning his own 
upon it. 

“ Yes, child, I think the wrongs of 
women might be written by an old lawyer; 
why not? We are behind the scenes, and 
no glare of footlights can dull our vision.” 

The young wife was silent. She was 
not the woman to grow hysterical, and she 


Hearts and Diamonds. 


167 


had suffered too long in silence to forget 
herself now ; but, one by one, some scald- 
ing-hot tears fell on the lawyer’s hand, 
and he knew that her sore heart needed 
some outward expression ; that, having once 
spoken, she would ever after be stronger 
and better able to endure her burden. 

He held her there as an own father 
might have done, now pressing his lips to 
her brow, now patting the small white 
hands so tightly clasped together; he could 
feel her heart beat, and the great, sup- 
pressed sobs shake her slight figure, but 
he said nothing until he found her grow- 
ing once more calm and quiet ; then he 
said one word only, — 

“ Daughter.” 

“ Yes, father.” 

It comforted her to hear him call her 
by that sacred name ; for no one else could 
ever use it now. 

“Do you think Aunt Crafts would like 
to go abroad with Harry’s mother ? ” 


Mopsy. 


1 68 

The little woman brightened. 

“ Perhaps so ; why, father ? ” 

“ It is part of my plan ; but, in order to 
have it succeed, you must oppose it a 
little.” 

“Only a little?” 

She was smiling now. 

How well dear Father Hunt understood 
everything! And, only a little while ago, 
she thought herself absolutely friendless. 

“ A little will answer, I think. The mat- 
ter must be kept from Harry, too ; he will 
spoil all by his bluntness.” 

“I see, father; and perhaps Dr. Warner 
would advise her going on account of” — 

“I thought she was remarkably healthy; 
‘disgustingly so,’ I have heard her say.” 

“ So she is ; but you know her fondness 
for reading medical works? Well, lately 
she has discovered that her liver is not 
quite right, and she is sure that she will 
die, like her friend Miss Bailey, with an 
abscess on that org^n.” 


Hearts and Diamonds. 169 

“ Capital little plotter ! Warner has been 
coming out for a month or more to eat 
curds and whey ; he shall come now and 
complete our work.” 

“ But suppose something might happen ?” 

“ We are working for the best good of 
all, child. Harry will never get well ; you 
are all tired out; your aunt wants to go to 
Europe, but dislikes to leave you lest some 
of her dear ten thousand friends should 
say she was heartless, and left you with 
your sick husband ; and Harry’s mother ” (he 
always said Harry’s mother when speaking 
of his wife) “ has a strong desire to join 
some friends over there.” 

“ And then, father, dear?” 

“ And then. Pussy, you shall go to a 
'little nest among the hills, and let your 
husband find out what a little treasure he 
possesses.” 

“ Father Hunt, you are the dearest man 
in the world. No wonder you are so suc- 
cessful in your profession.” 


170 


Mopsy. 


“Thank you, Pussy; if I succeed in mak- 
ing your life lighter it will be worth a 
dozen cases in court.” 

“ There is Harry’s bell ; it has rung 
twice. Good-by, dear father. Bessie shall 
say an extra prayer for you to-night.” 

The little woman went to her husband’s 
room, and the lawyer returned to his office ; 
but both carried with them a little of the 
peace, which must ever come when we go 
about with the kingdom of heaven in our 
hearts. 

Mopsy, on her way to read to the in- 
valid, passed the lawyer on the walk ; but he 
did not see her : he was thinking earnestly, 
and a smile rested on his handsome face. 

“ How happy he looks,” said Mopsy ; 
“ and no wonder. He is rich, famous, and 
beloved ; he has only other people’s quarrels 
to trouble him ; and when he is done with 
them he can be happy.” 

Mopsy was happy herself ; very happy, 
she said; for the Captain had just brought 


Hearts and Diamonds. 


171 

them a long letter from Natty. The farmer 
in whose family Natty was, also wrote that 
he liked the boy very much. He was 
bright, willing, and was fast learning to 
work. If his folks wanted to get rid of 
him, he would adopt him and give him a 
small farm next to his own the day he was 
twenty-one. 

“Just think of it,” said Mopsy to herself; 
“ why, we couldn’t give Natty to any one ! 
Even the Captain laughed at that ; but the 
farmer is very kind. To-morrow, the Cap- 
tain is going to see Natty, if Spud continues 
better; he says he has business out there. 
Here is the house. I hope Mr. Hunt will 
be pleased, and will not speak sharply to his 
pretty wife. I know it hurts her, for she 
bites her lips, and her cheeks grow red.” 

Mopsy ran up the steps and rang the 
bell. As she did so, some one on the 
street called out, — 

“ Hello, Mopsy ! Changed your board- 
ing-place ? ” 


172 


Mopsy, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE ASSAULT. 

Mopsy looked down from her height on 
the steps to see, not one of the boys as 
she supposed, but a tall man whose face 
seemed familiar. He had the figure of a 
gentleman and the air of a desperado. 

“Who can it be?” she asked herself as 
she removed her wraps and left them in 
the hall. 

The man walked away, muttering to him- 
self, — 

“ I wonder if she knows anything about 
it, and how much ? It wouldn't answer 
for me to show myself, in there. I am 
half tempted to do it, though, some day. 
If the old one was taken off I would. 
The old one would be glad to see me with 
a rope around my neck, but he is not 


The Assault. 


173 


sharp enough. Ha, ha! a big Boston law- 
yer, and outwitted by me ! Who cares ? I 
was decent enough once, and could drive 
my span with the best of ’em. If I didn’t 
pay for their keeping, so much the better 
for me.” 

He staggered on down Beacon Street, 
and then suddenly disappeared behind some 
buildings. He fancied himself unobserved, 
but a pair of keen eyes were watching his 
every movement. 

“ He is full of liquor again, and may 
prove troublesome,” said the owner of the 
keen eyes. “ I will lounge about until the 
reading is over. He evidently knows our 
young friend by sight, and is determined 
to be familiar.” 

Mopsy was unusually long ; at least so 
it seemed to the rough man who was 
, watching for her. 

She came at last, however, and ran 
down the steps quickly. She had left her 
books behind her, and was carrying a 


174 


Mopsy, 


bunch of flowers, also a little package, evi- 
dently gifts from Mrs. Hunt to the sick 
woman she desired to see but could not. 

If any one of the “fellows at club” had 
called Harry Hunt a tyrant, he would have 
fought them then and there ; if any one 
of Mrs. Hunt’s fashionable callers had as- 
serted that she was not to be envied, he 
would have forbidden her his house. 

Mrs. Hunt herself had said repeatedly 
that she, in common with her friends, had 
all the rights they needed, and why should 
restless women impose new duties on 
them ? Nevertheless, this fortunate lady 
did not answer the promptings of her kind 
heart concerning the mother of “ our little 
reader ” as she called Mopsy. 

Her husband had said most emphatically 
that she could not go ; it was neither safe 
nor proper. 

She, a lady and his wife, dragging her- 
self down through - the streets to some 
miserable hovel at the North End to con- 


The Assault, 


175 


tract all sorts of vile diseases and breathe 
the pestilential air ? No ; it could not be 
thought of for a moment. 

When Mopsy left, and ran away with her 
precious burdens, Mrs. Hunt once more 
ventured a remark, — 

“ I wish I could see that mother of hers. 
She must be lovely and refined with such 
a daughter. And only think of it, Harry, 
she has not left those rooms in years.” 

“ Then she is quite used to it,” was the 
reply. 

“ Oh, no, Harry dear ! you are not used 
to yours, or at least you do not like to be 
confined here.” 

“ That’s quite another thing. I am a 
business man ; and she, I dare say, is some 
finikin woman who was very extravagant, 
ruined her husband, and now sits down to 
be waited upon by the people who make it 
a kind of fashionable dissipation to visit 
the poor.” 

“ You cannot mean it, Harry. You 


176 


Afopsy. 


know what you said about Bessie the other 
day, — if we were unfortunate, she might 
be where Miss Howard is.” 

“ And if she were, I should not expect 
her to receive visits from wealthy people.” 

“ I think wealthy people have a tremen- 
dous responsibility,” said his wife. 

“ Good gracious, Jennie ! you are posi- 
tively growing sentimental ; and it has all 
come about since you went to that what 
d’ye call it woman’s meeting. Now let me 
tell you that philanthropy is a fraud. You 
give and give to some family, thinking 
them really poor, and suddenly you dis- 
cover that they have a bank account, and 
own a fine house somewhere. Look at the 
creatures you have helped since we were 
married ; frauds, nine-tenths of them.” 

“ I know, dear, and for that reason I 
feel sure that the Associated Charities are 
quite right ; it is ‘ not alms, but a friend. 
Now, I should like to go and see Mrs. 
Howard, and prove a friend to her. I 


The Assault. 


177 


should like to for my own sake as well 
as hers.” 

The young wife’s voice faltered a little. 
It was not so easy to speak one’s thoughts 
to Harry, who snubbed and scolded or 
sneered, as it was to the dear old father, 
who seemed to understand at once. 

Something in the woman’s voice caused 
her husband to look at her. She was 
playing with a tassel of the sofa-pillow, 
and her eyes were downcast. 

Really, she was not a bad-looking 
woman when she blushed. Some of his 
friends thought her handsome ; and if a 
man must have one woman forever 
about him, Jennie was at least agreeable 
to look at. 

While he was congratulating himself on 
his good fortune, she went on ; perhaps he 
would listen, as he had not contradicted her. 

“ It was not the woman’s meeting, as 
you call it, Harry, that caused me to think 
first about some of these things. It began 


178 


Mopsy. 


when baby came, and I used to lie there 
so helpless, with her still more helpless by 
my side. I used to think and think then ; 
and I wanted to be a good mother, and 
make her a good woman. And then, long 
after, when Mrs. Lombard came and asked 
me to go to the Woman’s Club, and listen 
to a paper on ‘ Training Children,’ I was 
glad to go. I know you were very angry, 
and said I should never go again among 
that strong-minded set of fanatics, but you 
would never let me tell you about it. When 
I heard those mothers talking so sweetly 
and gently of their homes and their chil- 
dren, I began to think how much I had 
lost when my mother died, and I deter- 
mined to do more for Bessie. Every one 
who spoke gave me some new thought ; 
and now Miss Howard has been telling 
me of her mother, of her sufferings, her 
losses, her patience, and through it all of 
the wonderful training she has given her 
children. It makes me ashamed of this 


The Assault. 


179 


sort of life, with its lightness and surface 
work, and I keep thinking that such a 
woman as Mrs. Howard might help me 
more than I could help her.” 

Evidently Mr. Hunt was somewhat af- 
fected by this touching statement ; but the. 
prejudices of a lifetime could not be swept 
away in a moment, neither could he strike 
his flag. Hitherto, his word had been law, 
even in the matter of wearing apparel ; 
and he remembered with a sense of delight 
that a certain objectionable evening dress 
had never been worn since he said, in his 
autocratic way, “ For Heaven’s sake, Jennie, 
never put that thing on again.” He did 
not remember that a hat of his, equally ob- 
jectionable to her, was worn with a feeling 
akin to pride ; in his eyes, man and wife 
were one, and that one the husband. 

After a moment’s silence he remarked, in 
a patronizing tone, — 

“ You are not the worst woman in the 
world, by any means, Jennie, and if you 


i8o 


Mopsy. 


choose to spend your own income on beg- 
gars, why, that is your affair ; but I must 
insist that my wife shall duly consider her 
social position ; and, for Bessie’s sake, take 
care of her health.” 

“ For Bessie’s sake.” The words rang 
in her head as she left the room. 

“It is useless,” she said to herself ; “he 
either will not or cannot understand. Per- 
haps all men are alike.” 

A moment after, a cheerful voice sounded 
in her ears as he said to the maid : — 

“ All up-stairs, Margaret ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” was the reply ; and in a mo- 
ment more Father Hunt had taken Mrs. 
Hunt’s flushed face between his hands, and 
wished her good-morning. 

“ I am going to scold you. Pussy.” 

“ Don’t, father ; I could not bear it just 
now.” 

“ Well, then, I won’t ; but see here, you 
must look after your little reader. This is 
a pretty story I have just heard.” 


The Assault, 


i8i 

“Tell me quickly.” 

“It seems she had just left your steps 
when a drunken rascal seized her hands 
and demanded her money.” 

“ Oh, dear ! and I had just given her 
five dollars for reading.” 

“ Well, he did not get it. Brown fortu- 
nately was in the locality ; and the rascal 
bolted when the girl shrieked, only to tum- 
ble against Brown and a policeman. The 
fellow is locked up, now.” 

“And Netta — Miss Howard, I mean?” 

“ Frightened a little, but all right. Pretty 
work for your aristocratic street.” 


i 82 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HOW FAR TO THE KINGDOM? 

The Captain did not go into the country 
on the following day. He did, however, 
call upon Mr. Harry Hunt to explain the 
absence of his reader. 

Mr. Hunt was quite excited over the 
event ; he insisted that the man should suf- 
fer well for it, and was very sorry to hear 
that Miss Howard was not feeling strong 
enough to read. 

“ She was quite worn out caring for 
a little friend of ours,” said the Captain, 
“ and her visits here were doing her a 
world of good. I am sorry she was an- 
noyed; but she laughs about it now, and 
entreats her mother to let her come to you 
to-morrow.” 

“ We mieht send the carriage for her,” 


How Far to the Khigdom ? 1 83 

said the invalid, quite forgetting his words 
to his wife. 

“ That will not be necessary ; she enjoys 
the walk, and for the short time you remain 
in town I will see that she is protected.” 

The Captain remained to read himself, 
and selfish Harry Hunt requested his wife 
to order lunch for two, which she did at 
once ; not only ordering it, but preparing 
it herself with cook’s assistance. 

She quite longed to make a trio of the 
duet, and hear something of the descriptive 
chat with which the Captain entertained her 
husband. She was not invited, however ; 
and, although the guest did not comment 
on her departure, he detected her desire 
to stay. 

Never did the traveller talk more ear- 
nestly of things he had seen ; never did 
invalid find a more agreeable companion 
or a more judicious nurse. 

“ Come up again, Brown ; come often. 
I declare, my father is quite right ; you 


184 


Mopsy. 


seem like an old friend. I began to mend 
from the moment you came.” 

“ A merry heart doeth good like medi- 
cine,” said the Captain. “ I am very glad 
to see you so much brighter. If Miss 
Howard is unable to come to-morrow, I will 
fill her place ; after that, I have imperative 
business in the country.” 

“Well, let us see you all we can; and if 
you find my wife down-stairs, send her up, 
will you ? ” 

“ I will state your request.” 

Was there a little sarcastic emphasis on 
the word request, or did Mr. Hunt fancy it ? 

The Captain did find Mrs. Hunt below. 
She was tying her little daughter’s bonnet 
preparatory to sending her out. 

As the Captain approached, she thanked 
him earnestly for his kindness. 

“You have worked a perfect charm,” 
she said, “ and we can never thank you 
sufficiently. All your prescriptions are suc- 
cessful.” 


How Far to the Kingdom? 185 

“ Perhaps I can venture to make an- 
other.” 

“ A dozen, if you choose ; father thinks 
you worth a score of doctors.” 

“ Then I shall presume to suggest that 
you go out and enjoy this fine air.” 

“ Oh, no ; Harry is sure to call for me, 
if I am out of sight. It is so hard for a 
man to be shut up in the house.” 

“ That is a hackneyed statement which 
I dislike.” 

“ Indeed, it is very old, I fancy.” 

“ Yes ; and it is one of those aged 
fallacies capable of mischief. A woman 
requires more fresh air than a man, con- 
sequently it is harder for her to be shut 
up in the house, especially when every de- 
tail of housekeeping falls to her lot. If 
there is any created thing which demands 
and requires an abundance of fresh air, it 
is a delicately organized woman. There is 
a great deal of needless sympathy wasted 
on my sex, Mrs. Hunt.” 


i86 


Mopsy, 


“ Do you think so ? I know we always 
pity men when sick, and try to amuse 
them, sometimes ineffectually/’ 

He smiled as he answered : — 

“ Yes ; you increase our selfishness and 
your own labors ; but I forgot ; your hus- 
band wishes to see you. Good-morning.” 

The next day Mopsy was quite able to 
read, and the Captain went away on his 
mysterious journey, after holding a long 
consultation with the lawyer. 

Harry Hunt experienced a little disap- 
pointment when the girl appeared and in- 
formed him that his friend had left town. 
“ Where is his home. Miss Howard ? ” 

“ I do not know, sir.” 

“ He has a room down there in your lo- 
cality, has he not ? ” 

“ No, sir ; he fitted up a reading-room 
for our poor boys, and he writes there 
sometimes ; he has only stayed there since 
Spud was so sick.” 

“And who is Spud, pray?” 


How Far to the Kingdom? 187 

Mopsy found it easy to tell how the 
brother and sister were first made known 
to them, how the boys, her boarders, came 
and went, and how much good the Cap- 
tain was doing. 

A new world opened to the invalid. 
He had heard of the good work being 
done in that locality ; he had even given 
his check to help it on ; but it had never 
seemed a real thing to him. Why should 
it ? He had not time, he said, to attend 
the public meetings ; he had never exam- 
ined one of the published reports ; some- 
body was at work there, and it was a 
good thing ; but why should he, Harry 
Hunt, trouble himself about it ? 

On this point he agreed with his “ aunt- 
in-law,” so he called Mrs. Crafts ; it was 
the only thing they were ever known to 
agree upon. They had quarrelled on every 
topic, from the size and shape of the wed- 
ding-ring down to this very hour; but con- 
cerning poverty, crime, and squalor they 


i88 


Mopsy. 


were a unit. Both detested it ; both thought, 
if it existed, it should do so far from them ; 
both considered all obligations of any na- 
ture cancelled, when they handed in a 
yearly check for a small amount to some 
interested friend. 

True, Harry Hunt had talked with his 
wife about Bessie’s being in Miss Howard’s 
place if fortune should desert them ; but he 
never for a moment believed it possible ; 
and, until this young girl came in to amuse 
him with her pleasant voice and the fancies 
of others, the North End seemed just as 
far removed from him as the Dakota Mis- 
sion, which Dr. Elocute talked about, one 
Sunday, every season. He gave something 
to both, and there all responsibility ended. 

The author of “Adam Bede” states that 
“ men never feel remorse.” Mr. Hunt 
could not agree with her. 

Something like remorse and shame com- 
bined visited him as he listened to Mopsy’s 
simple story. He remembered his wife’s 


How Far to the Kingdom? 189 

words concerning the good she might find 
in doing for others ; he thought of his 
new friend Brown, and his devotions to 
these unfortunates. Surely, one man could 
not be so different from his fellows ; if 
Brown was eccentric, the eccentricity meant 
something. 

Perhaps this young girl, with her large, far- 
seeing eyes and honest face, could tell him 
more ; perhaps she could teach him, could 
help him. If Jennie needed help in train- 
ing the little one, why should he remain 
ignorant? He turned to Mopsy, at last. 

“ Do you think Captain Brown enjoys 
being down there among those people ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir ; he seems to be 
very happy.” 

“Yes, he is cheerful; he comes in like 
sunshine, and cheers us all up. Do you 
know how old he is ? ” 

“No, sir; I could never guess; some- 
times he seems to be quite young ; but he 
looked old and sad when Spud was so ill.” 


Mopsy. 


190 

“Why should he grow so fond of a litde 
beggar like that ? ” 

Mr. Hunt asked himself the question ; 
but Mopsy answered it. 

“ You see he believes, sir, that we have 
the kingdom of heaven within us ; and if 
Spud is happy, and Mose and Jim Lahey, 
why, the good will go on growing and 
growing, and it can never end.” 

Harry Hunt looked at her steadily for a 
moment. 

“And what does your mother believe?” 

“ She thinks just as the Captain does, 
and she says that the Industrial Home, 
and the workers in the charities, and all 
the visitors are only parts of the kingdom.” 

“What is the Home, anyway?” asked the 
invalid. 

Mopsy was surprised. 

“Have you lived long in Boston, sir?” 

“Yes; all my days. Why, Miss Howard?” 

“ I thought every one must know about 
that,” she said. 


How Far to the Kingdo^n? 19 1 

“ I am a heathen, you see. What are 
you thinking of, Miss Howard?” 

“ I was wondering if that is what the 
Captain meant when he said, ‘ Heaven 
wasn’t half so far from us, as Beacon Street 
from the North End.’” 

This time, Mr. Hunt pondered. 


192 


Mopsy, 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TELEGRAM. 

“ You must get your boy out of town,” 
said the doctor one morning, soon after 
the Captain’s return from his journey. 
“ This hot weather is enough to demoral- 
ize the strongest constitution.” 

“ I will go at once, if you will risk the 
consequences to Mrs. Howard.” 

“ Crosby says she can stand it, and his 
say-so is a good passport anywhere.” 

“ Will Dr. Crosby assist in her removal ? ” 

“ Certainly, if you request it. Have you 
prepared her for it ? ” 

“ No, I dared not raise any false hopes.” 

‘‘ I will see him to-day ; in Spud’s case, 
any delay is dangerous.” 

The subject of their remarks was still 
lying on the couch, which had been moved 


The T'elegram. 193 

into the middle of the room in order to 
give him more air. 

He coughed slightly, as they spoke to- 
gether in low tones, and both gentlemen 
looked anxious. 

“ A hard pull for him,” said the doctor. 
“How did you find your other wards?” 

“ Happy, tough, and rosy. Natty is the 
picture of health, and Tishy is another 
creature ; all she desires on this earth is 
the presence of her Jamsie.” 

“ Can I go out of doors. Captain, up 
there?” 

“ Every day, when you are once there, 
my boy.” 

“ Can I see them make hay ? ” 

“ Of course you can, when the time 
comes.” 

“ I wonder how it looks; I have read 
about it in books.” 

“ Oh, Jamsie, boy,” said the doctor, “ you 
will be in Paradise then. Think of the 
wild-flowers, the birds, the bees, the beauti- 


1 94 Mopsy. 

ful sky, and the air which almost lifts you 
off your feet.” 

“ I never saw the country, sir.” 

“ Poor child, and I cursed my fate because 
I was born there ; but now a whiff of air 
from my father’s pine woods would be 
better than a glass of wine.” 

“ Come up, doctor, when we are all 
settled, and spend a week with us.” 

“ And leave some poor soul to suffer 
while I am having a good time ? Preach 
according to your own practice. Jack.” 

“ What makes you call him Jack ? ” asked 
Spud. 

He had grown very familiar with his 
doctor during his illness. 

The Captain blushed a little, but the 
jovial doctor hastened to say, — 

“Why, we were college chums, laddie, 
and it’s a trick we had at old Harvard.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Spud, “ I thought the Cap- 
tain came from India, and did not know 


any one. 


The Telegram. 


195 


“ He wasn’t born in India, chicken, any 
more than you ; but I must go and recon- 
cile the Princess to her fate.” 

It was not a difficult task, evidently, for 
soon after the doctor’s merry laugh rang 
through the rooms, and he was heard to 
say “all right” in his cheeriest tone as he 
descended the stairway. 

Mopsy was not so easily disposed of. 
She had grown used to her boys and her 
daily burden, and her faith was not strong 
enough to convince her that the work would 
go on either in that form or another, if she 
withdrew. 

“ Good work never fails because one 
worker falls out by the way,” said her 
mother. “ We will let the Captain manage 
this for us, as he has done before. If we 
wish to return in the autumn, the way will 
open for us.” 

Two weeks later, a little group sat on a 
small rustic piazza among the Berkshire 
hills. Mrs. Howard was there, seated in 


196 


Mopsy. 


her chair as of old; Jamsie, too, with his 
hollow cheeks and hollow cough ; Natty, 
rosy and plump ; and little Tishy, with “ a 
really, truly doll like little rich girls” in 
her motherly arms. Not far from Jamsie’s 
hammock sat the Captain, reading the eve- 
ning mail, which a kind farmer had brought 
them on his way from the village post- 
office. 

“What is the matter, Captain?” asked 
Jamsie, who detected the very slightest look 
of annoyance on the face of his beloved 
friend. 

“ I must go into Boston to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” exclaimed the children in 
chorus ; and “ Oh, dear ! ” repeated Tishy, 
“ you know we are going to Bubble Brook 
to-morrow.” 

“ Bubble Brook will keep for an entire 
week, my little girl, and when I return we 
shall have many visits there. Perhaps I 
can carry the doctor out there.” 

“ Do, do,” exclaimed Natty and Jamsie. 


The Telegram. 197 

“ A very dear friend of mine is quite 
ill,” said the Captain, “ and I must not de- 
sert him in trouble, you know.” 

“ But the schoolroom is not finished,” 
said Natty. 

“ It is vacation now, and the schoolmis- 
tress requires rest.” 

This, with a glance at Mrs. Howard, who 
was quietly enjoying all about her. 

“ The schoolmistress will soon be ready 
for anything,” she said, “ when she has 
once fairly recovered from her surprise.” 

“What surprise, mamma?” asks practical 
Natty. 

“ Our home, here, and my own ability to 
move even a very little.” 

“ Oh, you will be climbing Baldy, some 
day, or that other little mountain close by. 
I wish Spud would hurry up and get well ; 
I want him to go fishing with me.” 

Natty, robust and strong, grew impatient 
as the days went by. 

“ I can before long,” said Spud, raising 


198 


Mopsy. 


his head up to look about him ; “ see, I 
can help myself ever so much.” 

The effort caused him to cough, and the 
Captain gently supported him. 

“ Nothing ails me now but the cough.” 

“ Natty, how would you like to have 
some of the poor fellows from Boston 
come up for a country week with us ? ” 
asked the Captain. 

“ Fine, if they knew how to fish, and 
weren’t afraid of snakes.” 

Natty did not know fear. 

“Then I will try to bring out a guest or 
two, unless your mother objects.” 

Was Mrs. Howard ever known to ob- 
ject when a kindly deed was proposed ? 

“ Certainly not ; we could put a bed in 
the storeroom ; and the poor things would 
find so much to enjoy.” 

“ Will the new woman be equal to ex- 
tra labor ? ” asked the Captain. 

“ Quite, I think ; she is so glad to be 
in the country once more.” 


The Telegram. 


199 


“ Then we will consider it settled, un- 
less Miss Netta has other plans.” 

“She should be here now,” said Natty; 
“ those Boston folks keep her too long.” 

“ She is simply reading to the sick gentle- 
man, as she did at home,” said her mother. 

“ How far is their place from here. Cap- 
tain ? ” asked Mrs. Howard. 

“ About three miles. They are not quite 
settled yet ; but the invalid was anxious to 
have his readings continued. Here comes 
the missing one, now.” 

“ Oh, Mopsy ! ” said Tishy, “ only think, 
the Captain has got to go way into Boston 
again, and we can’t go to Bubble Brook.” 

“ Must you go ? ” asked the girl, with a 
swift, regretful glance. 

“It is imperative. But, tell me, why are 
you walking home ; that was not in the 
bond ? ” 

“ It was a whim of mine ; I would not 
let the man drive me all the way ; the 
earth feels so good under my feet.” 


200 


Mopsy. 


“ And how does Mr. Harry find himself 
after his drive of yesterday ? ” asked the 
Captain. 

He always spoke of them as Mr. and 
Mrs. Harry, and the children fell into the 
habit quickly. 

“ He is much better ; slept well, and is 
hungry, he says.” 

“And his wife?” 

“ I found them all in the kitchen. She 
was making velvet cream, and Mr. Harry 
was holding Bessie and watching his wife. 
I never saw him look so happy before.” 

“ It works like a charm,” said the Cap- 
tain softly. 

He was looking at the boat Natty was 
sailing in a pan of water, and the chil- 
dren thought he was complimenting Natty’s 
work. 

Mopsy knew better. 

“ If you go into Boston to-morrow, I 
think I shall not go over to Cliff Cottage,” 
said she ; “ there will be work for me at 


The Telegram. 


201 


home. No one else can move mamma, 
and the children ” — 

“You might omit one day,” replied the 
Captain ; “ our friends have so many new 
duties now, they will not miss us as they 
did in town. I should not go, if it were 
not very important.” 

“ Netta, dear, you did not intend to sug- 
' gest that our claim upon the Captain’s 
time has any foundation save that of his 
own generosity ? I am sure he has wasted 
too much upon us already.” 

“ No, mamma,” said Mopsy, as she looked 
dreamily at the purple mountains in the 
distance. “ I suppose he must go away 
some time, and never come back. I was 
only thinking that all this was so pleasant, 
and we were so happy, it seemed a pity 
to lose any of it.” 

“ I shall lose as little as possible, you 
may be quite sure,” and then he leaned 
forward and dropped a letter into the girl’s 
lap. 


Mopsy. 


20 ^ 

While she was reading it, a woman came 
up the little path beneath the trees and 
paused before the group. 

“Does Cap’n Brown stop here?” she 
asked. 

“ I am he,” said that gentleman, rising. 

“ Well, here’s a telegraph that my Jim 
brung up from the junction ; he’s foreman 
on No. 140, an’ he said you must hev it 
to once, so I brought it along.” 

The Captain read it eagerly. Only three 
words, but startling. 

“Come at once. — Crosby.” 


Isa. 


203 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ISA. 

While the bearer of the message sat 
upon the steps resting and gathering up 
information to be spread about the neighbor- 
hood, Captain Brown was striding toward 
the junction five miles away. Only three 
trains stopped at Eudora, the nearest sta- 
tion to the new home, but an evening 
freight would be at the junction about ten 
'o’clock. He must strike this, if possible, 
and get into town as best he could ; per- 
haps the through night express would water 
at Hampton. If so, he could push on 
without much trouble. 

The unexpected summons had not ren- 
dered him forgetful. Into his breast-pocket 
he hastily thrust some papers, a clean collar, 
and some handkerchiefs ; and in response 


204 


Mopsy 


to the queries of the children as to the 
time of his return, he had said only “ as 
soon as may be.” His coolness deserted 
him as he hurried on, for he was constantly 
saying, “ If I should be too late, too late, 
how could I endure it ” 

He walked faster and faster, although the 
night was warm, and at last reached the 
junction three minutes before the heavy 
freight train came in. 

“ Can you let me go into town ? ” 

“It is against orders, sir.” 

“ In a case of life and death ? ” 

“ That might make a difference, I sup- 
pose ; but there’s nothing of the sort stated 
in our orders.” 

“ Never mind, I must go ; if any trouble 
is caused by my presence on your train, I 
will settle it with your chief.” 

“ All right, sir. Personally, I am glad 
to oblige ; officially, we must obey orders.” 

“ I know your chief, sir. He never fails 
to do a kindness, if it is in his power.” 


Isa. 


205 


That was enough. If the gentleman was 
a friend of the superintendent, even the 
freight conductor could permit himself to 
show his human side ; and all the world 
knows that the Fitchburg Road cannot be 
surpassed for courteous and gentlemanly 
officials. So the Captain went into the 
caboose, and was made as comfortable as 
circumstances would permit. He could not 
rest, or think, or sleep, and the noisy cars 
forbade conversation. 

“ I will get you on the express,” shouted 
the conductor. “ We will telegraph for 
you, so you needn’t worry about it. When 
a man has his best friend dying, money 
and ceremony don’t count.” 

As the train drew its weary length 
along, the sky became overcast, and a ter- 
rific thunder-storm arose. The whole air 
seemed charged with electricity, and the 
lightning played along the tracks, while 
the thunder rumbled and rolled from ledge 
to ledge. When the express came tear- 


2o6 


Mopsy, 


ing down, the storm was at its worst, but 
the Captain hurried on board, and was 
whirled away. Boston seemed farther and 
farther from him, so great was his eager- 
ness. In at last, amid the pulling of 
brakes, the grating of wheels, and the in- 
numerable noises about the great station. 
Captain Brown was the first to get off, 
and as he sprang into a shaky-looking car- 
riage, with a wheezy horse to draw it, he 
said hurriedly : — 

“ Drive like the wind to Court Street.” 

Once there, he found the watchman still 
on duty, and glad to see him. 

“ Heard anything from Brookline since 
last evening, Bronson ? ” 

“ Not a word, sir. Upton went out 
last night, and said they were expecting 
you.” 

The Captain went up-stairs, and un- 
locked the door. On the desk in the 
private room he found several letters and 
some important papers. These he secured 


Isa. 


207 


and hurried away to obtain a fleeter steed 
for his ride to Brookline. 

“ I will get there long before they can 
expect me,” he said to himself ; “ and if it 
be not too late, all will be well.” 

He did not pause to think of his weari- 
ness, of his damp clothing, or haggard 
looks ; his one prayer was to be near his 
friend before speech became impossible. 
He reached the house at last — worried, 
wearied, and anxious. Thomas saw him 
coming, and opened the door ; evidently 
the poor fellow had been on duty all 
night. 

“How is he?” was the Captain’s hurried 
question. 

“ Easier, sir, and able to talk ; he calls 
for you constant, sir, constant ; none of 
the others, but just you.” 

“ I will go to him at once.” 

“ Better brush up a bit, sir, and let me 
get you some hot coffee, sir; the doctor 
has just had some.” 


208 


Mopsy. 


“ Thank you, Thomas. I will take your 
advice. I must be fresh enough to remain 
with him if he wishes it.” 

While Thomas brushed him, and the pale, 
tired housemaid prepared his coffee, Cap- 
tain Brown was thinking of one short week 
before. Only one week since, he was the 
honored guest of the man who was now 
stricken down. One week ! and now the 
family was scattered, the wife on the ocean, 
the son and grandchild among the hills, 
and he, the worker whose genius and pa- 
tience made all luxury and comfort possible 
to them, lying helpless, perhaps dying. 
“ You must give me one day and night. 
Brown,” he had said, “ I want to see if I 
can keep bachelors hall as I used to.” 
And Brown had arranged matters for little 
Spud, and taken the day and night. 

It had been a rare season for both, a 
communion of souls uncommon and delight- 
ful to the hard-working man of the world. 

They talked far into the night, sitting in 


Isa. 


209 


the moonlight on the porch, and once again 
the lawyer was moved to say, “You were 
sent to me just at this time. Brown ; I 
believe in my good old mother’s special 
Providence. Yes,” continued he, as his 
young friend did not speak, “ I have not 
only taken more than a fancy to you, but I 
have one concerning you.” 

“ Let me hear it. Judge.” 

“ It always seems to me that you have 
undertaken to perform some particular thing, 
to fulfil some vow perhaps, and nothing 
will turn you from it.” 

“ You are nearly correct, sir.” 

“ Doing penance for some youthful follies, 
eh, Brown ? ” 

“ No, sir. I do not mind telling you, sir, 
that I once had a very dear sister. She 
was almost a part of myself ; but, although 
I loved her so much, I loved fame and my- 
self more. I went from her against her 
wishes, and won a certain degree of fame; 
but I lost her forever.” 


2 10 Mopsy. 

“Lost! You don’t mean quite that, 
Brown ? ” 

“ It means just that to me.” 

“ Indeed ? Poor child I And all this 
charity work is for her sake ? ” 

“ For my own too. I must see certain 
wrongs righted before I can rest. She was 
compelled to marry a man she despised, 
and ” — 

“ It’s a crime, — a fiendish, desperate, con- 
temptible crime,” said the lawyer eagerly. 
“Thank Heaven, my poor little girl was 
spared that. I wish you might have known 
her. Brown ; she was a lovely child. She 
has sat here on this very porch with me, 
and said, ‘Uncle, dear, I shall never marry; 
I mean to take care of you when you are 
an old man. And I used to say, ‘ I would 
rather bury you, pet, than see you un- 
happy.’ She was my brother’s child, his 
only girl ; and when he died I brought her 
to my home. Think of it, sixteen children 
in my father’s house, and all gone now ! It 


Isa, 


2 I I 


does not promise well for my longevity, 
does it ? ” 

“You are remarkably strong, sir ; just in 
your prime, I should say.” 

“ So was her father a splendid fellow.” 

“ How old was your niece when she 
died, sir ? ” 

“ I would give my whole fortune to know 
when or where she died. It is a sad story. 
I have not spoken of her for years, 
now, until Harry mentioned her the other 
day. It is still a mystery. I was called 
away to Florida to see my sister, the wife 
of a planter there ; she was very ill, and 
died while I was there. When I returned 
my darling had gone ; run away, they said, 
with our coachman, a pretentious English- 
man. The child had feared him, and begged 
me to send him away, but my wife would 
not hear to it. It broke my boy all up ; 
he grew wild then, and somewhat dissi- 
pated. Worse than all, he turned against 
me. That was the hardest of all ; but. 


212 


Mopsy. 


poor boy, he told me the other day that 
he thought I sent Isa from us, lest he 
should marry her.” 

“ Was your wife fond of the young lady?” 
asked the Captain in a hurried tone. 

“ I can’t say that she was. You see, 
she is dead set against cousins marrying ; 
it is a hobby of hers, and she urged me 
to send Isa away to school. I couldn’t, 
somehow ; she was so loving and gentle, 
and so much like my own. If she went 
away for a visit, I was miserable. I missed 
her even more than Harry, she had such 
pretty, thoughtful ways. I used to think 
sometimes that Harry’s mpther was a trifle 
jealous of her, especially when I made my 
will and gave the children just alike. I 
talked with her about it; for it is only just 
and fair that a woman should have her 
opinion about the property she helps a 
man to earn or save.” 

“ Your brother did not leave any other 
children ? ” 


213 


ha. 

“ Only one, a boy, a splendid fellow. 
Perhaps I have told you about him ? ” 

“ You mentioned him once, I think.” 

“He was two years older than my 
Harry, and a fine scholar, crazy for ad- 
venture, fond of travel, and as clear-headed 
as a man of forty. I wanted to make a 
lawyer of him, but he fancied the army ; so 
I got him into West Point. He did well, 
stood high in his class, graduated, and was 
sent West. He used to write me some 
grand letters. He finally went abroad.” 

“And you never heard from him again?” 

“ Only a few times, and that convinces 
me that he is dead. If he were living. 
Jack would never neglect his old uncle or 
his sister.” 

The Captain rose and paced the piazza. 

“ What is your wife’s theory concerning 
him ? ” 

“ Oh, she thinks he was led astray, and 
cares no more for us.” 

“ Was she fond of him ? as fond as you ? ” 


214 


Mopsy, 


“ Well, no ; the fact is, when I brought 
the children home she was bitterly opposed 
to it ; and Harry tells me that the boy was 
tormented some, made to feel he was 
in the way, and all that ; perhaps she 
did make it a little uncomfortable for 
them. Harry says she taunted Isa with 
being a beggar ; but, bless you ! she was 
not. Their father left a snug little sum, 
and I invested it for them. It has never 
been touched — not even in my search for 
her. Harry’s mother did not mean to be 
hard over the young things ; but women 
are strange, and somehow she got the idea 
that these children stood in Harry’s way.” 

“ Why did the girl submit to it ? Why 
did she not complain ? ” 

“It was for my sake, Harry said. He 
did not know for a long time how things 
were, and then he swore he would marry 
his cousin. He was only waiting to hear 
from Jack. Isa never would believe he 
was dead.” 


Isa, 


2J5 


“ Did she leave any message for you 
when she left ? ” 

The Captain was still pacing the veranda 
in nervous haste as he asked his questions. 

“ Yes ; oh, yes. Since I have troubled 
you with these personal matters, I will 
show it to you, if you like. Come inside. 
Brown ; it must be getting late.” 

Both men entered the house, and the 
lawyer seated himself at a desk in the 
library. He unlocked drawer after drawer, 
and at last took from a small box a much- 
worn piece of paper, which he handed to 
his guest. 

“ There it is. Brown ; I know it all by 
heart, and I never gave up searching for 
her until three years ago, when I heard 
that she was dead.” 

“ May I take this to my room, sir, and 
read it at my leisure ? ” 

“Certainly, Brown, certainly; and do 
forgive me for boring you in this fashion. 
It has been a relief for me to speak ; I 


2 1 6 Mopsy, 

couldn’t well talk of this to my own 
family.” 

The Captain’s hand trembled as he 
shook the lawyer’s warmly, and said with 
feeling, - — 

“It has helped my trouble to hear of 
yours, sir. Good-night.” 


A Farewell Letter, 


217 


CHAPTER XX. 

A FAREWELL LETTER. 

Great tears stood in the young man’s 
eyes as he finished reading the following 
touching note : — 

Dearest Uncle, — I am going away for your 
good. I' did not know before that “you wished it.” 
I did not dream that you were anxious to have 
Harry marry an heiress, and I was in the way. Why 
did you not tell me ? I love you so much, I could 
do anything for you — even this. All these long 
years you have been father and mother to me, and, 
whatever happens, no one must blame you. Dear, 
dear, uncle, you must tell Jack why I went. You 
must tell him that it was duty, and I could not stay 
and see you unhappy. 

I don’t know where I am going ; they will not 
tell me. But I shall write to deai; Jack, and tell 
him all. He will come for me ; he will find me, I am 
sure, and you and Harry must forget me. He will 
marry the heiress you wish him to, and I will do 
all I can to be a good woman, and honor the old 


2i8 


Mopsy. 


name. I am crying hard, uncle. I can scarcely see 
for tears ; for the little clock which you gave me 
tells me that it is almost time for me to go, and 
they are waiting for me in the arbor by the brook. 
I will not take anything but my mother’s jewellery, 
and a few keepsakes you have given me. “Beggar” 
as I am, I cannot rob you. Good-by, dearest uncle. 
For your sake I will try to be happy; and if they 
tell you that I am ungrateful, do not believe it. I 
have promised — they made me do it — not to tell 
you one word, or even say good-by ; but I must — I 
must. Let no one see this letter, not even Harry. 
If he has “ tired of me, and wishes to marry the 
heiress,” I can forgive him, and hope he will be 
happy. O uncle, dearest and best friend, I am going 
away from you ! I do not know where ; but they tell 
me it is for your happiness, and therefore, dear, 
generous father-friend, I go, but my heart will break. 

Your loving 


Is A. 


It was morning again, and the lawyer 
was in his garden, giving directions con- 
cerning the care of certain plants. The 
Captain saw him from his window, and sa- 
luted him. As he looked up, the younger 
man detected deep lines about his eyes, 
and a weariness which seemed unusual. 


A Farewell Letter. 


219 


He is killing himself with work. I 
must get him away from it. I dare not tell 
him now, until the proof is in my hands ; 
then his kind heart will not be wounded 
unnecessarily.’' 

Then they breakfasted together, . and at 
last the lawyer spoke of the subject which 
had kept him tossing all night without 
sleep. 

“ What do you think of her letter. 
Brown ? ” 

“That she was all you described her, — 
loving and good.” 

“But the mysterious part of it?” 

“ I fear that a cruel wrong has been 
done, and an innocent girl has suffered.” 

“But would you dare hope that she still 
lives, that I might see her once more ? 
Why, Brown, I would give ten years of 
life to see her again, and be able to tell 
her how dear she was to me ! ” 

“ I could not answer your questions 
this morning, dear judge. Give me time, 


2 20 Mopsy, 

and we may weave something out of this 
wretched tangle.” 

“Thank you, Brown. You cannot un- 
derstand how much happier I feel since 
I told you. Why, I have looked in every 
face I have seen for years, hoping to find 
some trace of her. There is one more 
favor I would like to ask.” 

“ Name anything you wish, sir.” 

“ Well, it is about her money. If it is 
too late, if we can’t help her, I want every 
dollar spent for motherless girls, and I 
want you to take charge of it; and. Brown, 
Harry’s mother need not know anything 
about it.” 

One week since they had talked thus, in 
the very room where the Captain sat now, 
and life had grown stranger and more 
mysterious for both. The Captain finished 
his coffee, and went up-stairs. The doctor 
met him at the door of the sick-room, and 
answered the anxious questions expressed 
only by his eyes, with, “More comfortable; 


A Farewell ‘Letter. 


22 I 


mending, we hope, and mad to see you. 
He is very nervous. Come in.” 

“ My dear boy,” said the judge, taking 
the Captain’s hand in his, “ I knew you 
would come, and now I feel easier.” 

Something in the words as well as tone 
brought tears to the young man’s eyes, 
but he pressed the hand he held, and sat 
down. 

“ Brown, I know my danger. It was 
only ‘ a slight shock,’ — one side is all 
right ; but they cannot deceive me, and I 
must set my house in order. 

“ Doctor, will you leave us for a short 
time ? The Captain has charge of my pri- 
vate business.” 

For two hours they sat alone ; two mem- 
orable hours, never to be forgotten. Was 
the tangle unwinding ? 


222 


Mopsy, 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE lawyer’s deep SORROW. 

“ You have talked long enough now,” 
said the Captain gently, “and Crosby has 
been beckoning me to come out.” 

“ Are you sure it is all written as I 
said?” 

“ Exactly, dear judge.” 

“ Then call Crosby in, please.” 

The doctor came, and gave him some 
medicine, while the Captain attempted to 
leave. 

“ Don’t go. Brown ; don’t go, unless you 
are tired.” 

For the first time he seemed to ob- 
serve his friend’s weariness, and he asked 
quickly, — 

“ How did you get here ? ” 

“ Partly on foot, partly by train.” 


The Lawyer's Deep Sorrow. 223 


“ Then go lie down at once, and I will 
sleep ; but first send for Judge Livermore. 
I must see him. You see, I am taking 
you at your word, and ordering you about 
as if you belonged to me.” 

“ There you are quite right.” 

“ And, Brown, don’t let the papers 
make a mess of it ; don’t let them talk of 
me as if I were a wreck. If it were not 
for this right leg I should be all right.” 

“ We will have you among the hills in 
a few days, sir.” 

“ How are they all up there ? ” 

“ Well and happy.” 

Thank God for that ! And Jamsie, 
your little chap ? ” 

“Pretty feeble, sir; the cough hangs on.” 

“ Poor fellow.” 

“ You really must not talk any more, 
Judge,” said the doctor. 

“ All right, then ; I won’t. Lie down. 
Brown, and we will finish our work after 
dinner ; I never saw you look so tired.” 


224 


Mopsy. 


The Captain went away, and found a 
delightful resting-place in a hammock on 
the shaded piazza. He thought himself too 
tired and too anxious to sleep; but nature 
revenged herself, and he not only slept 
soundly, but sweetly, for hours. When he 
wakened, Thomas told him that the judge 
had rested well, had taken some nourish- 
ment, and “ seemed as good as new.” 

The man’s evident pleasure led the Cap- 
tain to say, — 

“You are very fond of your master, 
Thomas ? ” 

“ And well I might be, sir ; I have been 
with him since the first year he came to 
this place.” 

“You were quite young then?” 

“ Lord love you, sir ! a green boy.” 

“ Then you know all the family, Thomas ? ” 

“ Better than my own, sir, since I have 
no knowledge of father or mother ; and the 
judge, he took me from the street. Heaven 
bless him ! Mr. Harry and his cousin, Mr. 


The Lawyer's Deep Sorrow. 225 

Jack, were about my own age when I came, 
and Miss Isa was like a fairy. You ought 
to have seen Miss Isa, sir ; she was the 
idol of my master. But none of us can 
speak her name now ; the mistress forbids 
it, and there’s no call to.” 

“ Is she living, Thomas ? ” 

“ That’s a hard question, your honor ; 
she went away most mysterious.” 

“ Went away ? How, and where ? ” 

“ There are them as could tell, sir, if 
they pleased,” said the man shortly, as 
he went around to the stable. 

“ I believe the fellow knows something 
himself,” said the Captain softly. “ If he 
does, the poor sick man up-stairs may be 
satisfied sooner than I feared.” 

It was evening now, and still the judge 
rested quietly. His mind, always clear and 
active, busied itself with many cares; but 
the body was painless and still. 

Dr. Crosby had gone in town, promising 
to return later in the evening, and Captain 


226 


Mopsy, 


Brown sat beside the bed, noting every 
look and movement of the patient. In the 
next room, a nurse was dozing on the 
luxurious lounge. 

“ Brown,” said the sick man. 

“ Yes, Judge ? ” 

“I cannot sleep again; my brain works 
like an engine.” 

“ Let me try my mesmeric power; I often 
soothe Jamsie in that way.” 

“ Tm afraid that it will be useless. You 
see, I have not slept of late ; hardly one 
night since Harry told me, and I won’t 
resort to drugs.” 

The young man moved his chair nearer, 
and softly stroked the waving hair, which 
had still few threads of silver mingled with 
the brown. 

It soothed the patient, and soon his 
voluntary nurse was rejoiced to find him 
sleeping. 

He stole noiselessly away to a little 
writing-table near, and began to write ; 


The Lawyer Deep Sorrow. 227 


first, a long letter to Mopsy, telling her 
of the kind lawyer’s illness ; then to Harry 
and his wife, with the same story, begging 
them to be quite patient, for a few days 
would bring them all together once more, 
and Cliff Cottage should prove a veritable 
convalescents’ home ; then a third letter 
directed to a distant postmaster. Just as the 
last one was finished, the doctor returned. 

He was rejoiced to find his patient’s con- 
dition so much improved. “ It looks like 
solid improvement, too,” he said to the 
Captain. “ Why, we shall have him up in 
a day or two.” 

The night passed quietly, and the morn- 
ing brought Judge Livermore to his friend. 

“ A touch of sciatica, eh ? ” he said, as 
he bent over him. “ Well, well. Hunt, you 
and I are growing old ; however, we take 
life pretty easy, don’t we ? ” 

It was pleasant to see these old friends 
together ; pleasant to know that the hard 
side of life had left them still hopeful, 


228 


Mopsy. 


cheerful, even young. Small souls acquire 
bitterness in life’s school ; grand ones grow 
mellow as the sands run short. The neces- 
sary business being finished, Judge Liver- 
more went his way, after urging his friend 
to call on him for any duty at any time ; 
and once more the Captain was alone with 
his friend. 

As the afternoon wore away, the judge 
grew talkative, and seemed to enjoy his 
listener. 

“ Must you get back to the sick boy 
soon ? ” he asked. 

“ No ; he has excellent care.” 

“ If you can remain with me. Brown, 
and keep things straightened out a bit 
here and at the office, I wish you would. 
The servants are very good, but a man” — 

“I understand; when I was so ill, abroad, 
I thought I would give even my youth for 
the sight of a home face, or the sound of 
a home voice.” 

“ Then you will stay ? ” 


The Lawyer's Deep Sorrow. 229 


“ As long as you desire.” 

“ Thank you, Brown. Perhaps I needed 
something to pull me down. I have been 
working tremendously for the past twelve 
years. Any machine would require rest 
and repairs by this time.” 

“ We will insist on both now,” said the 
Captain ; “ and if I am to be chief nurse, 
you must freely express your wants.” 

“ I shall tire you out. Brown. I was 
sick one season when she was here, and 
the dear child was eyes and hands and 
feet. Harry’s mother detests a sick-room. 
She is eager to be away, fretted by the 
restraint, and so restless she makes you 
feel as if your bed were made of nettles. 
It is her nature, and the boy is like her, 
— imperious and impatient when he is not 
well.” 

“ I was about to ask you if we should 
summon your wife ; she might return at 
once, and perhaps she will be annoyed if 
she is not informed.” 


230 


Mopsy. 


“Oh, no, no, no. Brown! They will have 
a charming trip; they’ll be gone until Sep- 
tember, perhaps, and if anything should 
happen to me it will be time enough. 
I should not like to spoil her pleasure, 
and the aunt-in-law is quite as much at 
home on that side as this.” 

“ I thought it might be better to have 
a woman about ; you might be more com- 
fortable, and have many delicacies which 
your male nurse will not think of.” 

“No, boy, I am satisfied it is all right; 
but I miss Isa, poor girl. I was never ill 
before without her, and somehow she is 
constantly in my thoughts. Brown ? ” 

“Well, sir?” 

“ Will you think me an absurd old fool 
if I ask you to bring a picture here which 
you will find in the seal on my watch- 
guard ? ” 

“ I will get it at once.” 

He unclasped it for the sick man, and sat 
by while he gazed at it long and earnestly. 


Mopsy is Called Away. 


231 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MOPSY IS CALLED AWAY. 

It was raining hard among the moun- 
tains ; and the children were watching the 
clouds as they formed into fanciful shapes, 
now lying low upon the sides of Baldy, 
now forming a perfect cap on his crest. 

“ No mail for us to-day,” said Mopsy, with 
an almost reproachful glance at the sky. 

“ It may clear, by and by,” said her mother, 
“ and some of these good farmers will re- 
member us ; they seem very ready to do 
us a kindness.” 

“ I don’t quite like the freedom with which 
our mail is handled,” responded Mopsy. 
“ Only think of that old man keeping the 
Captain’s letter all night at his house, be- 
cause he did not feel like coming here with 
it!” 


Mopsy. 


232 

“ And the papers too,” said Jamsie ; “ it 
is so queer not to have a paper every 
day.” 

“ They are always sent to us,” said Mopsy; 
“ the Captain ordered them, for I heard him 
say that a daily newspaper was in itself a 
liberal education.” 

“Who cares for reading?” said Natty; “I 
like to watch the hills, and the water run- 
ning down. Look, Tishy, look ! the brook 
over there has made a new place, and will 
fill up our garden.” 

“ It will all be drowned out,” said Tishy 
mournfully. 

“ There’s a man coming with a rubber 
coat on. He is going to stop here, I do 
b’lieve,” said Jamsie, raising his cropped 
head from his arm-chair. 

The man was coming ; and in a few mo- 
ments he stood upon the little porch, stamp- 
ing the mud from his rubber boots. 

Mopsy opened the door, and a look of 
disappointment crossed her pretty face. 


Mopsy is Called Away. 233 

It was Horace from Cliff Cottage. 

“ I have a note for you ; here it is, miss. 
It came in one to my master, and he wanted 
me to bring it over ; and they would like 
to know, special, how you are to-day.” 

“ Step in, Horace, and let me read this ; 
perhaps it requires an answer.” 

“You have had a long, wet walk,” said 
Mrs. Howard kindly. 

“ That’s no harm, ma’am. Better for me 
than taking out the horse or getting the 
buggy covered with mud. These roads are 
uncommon hard in a storm.” 

“ O mother! ” exclaimed Mopsy suddenly. 

“Well, dear?” 

“ Mrs. Gaffney is very ill, and wants to 
see me. The Captain writes to say that 
he will meet me at the train if you think 
it best for me to come, and here is a 
ticket. The doctor thinks Mrs. Gaffney 
will die, and Mr. Harry says if I am to 
go he will send me down to the village 
with Horace.” 


234 


Mopsy. 


“Then your buggy will get muddy, any-^ 
how,” said Natty the practical. 

“ It may, for a lady, but not for myself,” 
said the man. 

“ Well, if you go, take me down with you, 
and let me have the ride back,” said Natty. 

“ What shall I do, mother ? ” 

Horace was invited into the kitchen to 
see Mrs. Downing, who reigned supreme 
there. Close at Horace’s heels went Natty 
and his fast friend, Tishy. 

“ Now we will discuss matters,” said 
Mrs. Howard. “ Evidently the Captain ex- 
pects you, and perhaps you can comfort 
poor Mrs. Gaffney. I cannot refuse a dy- 
ing woman any request, but I dread un- 
speakably to have you return there in the 
heat when you are improving so fast here. 
We might ask one of the visiting ladies to 
see her and minister to her.” 

“ O mother, that would not do ! She 
could ask them herself if she wished ; and, 
besides, hear this : ” — 


Mopsy is Called Away. 235 

“The woman seems to have something on her 
mind which she cannot or will not impart to any 
one but yourself. Suky’s mother has your little 
room exactly as you left it, and my friend Dr. Walk- 
er’s sister will act as chaperon. I have endeavored 
to pacify her without sending for you, but she in- 
sists, and I hope you will soon be able to return to 
your new home. Miss Walker and myself will meet 
you at the 2.30 train, unless your mother objects. 
If you cannot come, please send a telegram from the 
junction. Horace will take it for you, and you will 
find a blank on the table in my room.’^ 

When Mopsy had finished reading, her 
mother said quietly, — 

“ It is another duty, dear, and I think 
you must go.” 

Mopsy did not require any urging. She 
remembered many little kindnesses she had 
received from the sick woman, and she was 
not a little curious concerning her board- 
ers and the work at her old home. 

Horace was sent away with a brief note 
of regret to dear Mrs. Harry, who would 
not see her for several days, and then the 
work of preparation began. 


236 


Mopsy, 


The rain still poured, but Mopsy did not 
mind; her rain-cloak and rubbers had often 
protected her, and they could do so now. 
Tishy and Natty were both tucked away 
in the buggy for a fine drive home, 
and Mopsy gave numberless charges to 
Mrs. Downing concerning her mother and 
Jamsie. 

“ My mistress told me to tell you that 
you was not to worry about them,” said 
Horace, “ for she would go herself to see 
that they were all right; and if you could 
get time to go out and see the old gentle- 
man she would be much pleased to know 
just how he was getting along.” 

“ I certainly will,” said Mopsy ; “ and I 
wish she could go herself ; but the Captain 
says it is not necessary.” 

“ You see, her husband needs her, miss, 
and no matter what comes, he is the first 
with her, though she sets great store by 
the judge.” 

When the young traveller reached the sta- 


Mopsy is Called Away, 237 

tion she found a woman waiting, like her- 
self, for the down train. Mopsy glanced 
at her for a moment, and then renewed her 
charges to Natty. 

Would he please remember mamma’s 
tonic every two hours ? Would he be sure 
to wait upon poor Jamsie, and not forget 
the new bantams in the little coop ? Would 
he also remember the milk every night, and 
go for it in good season ? 

Natty said “Yes” to everything, and did 
not enjoy being sent away with Horace be- 
fore the train came, lest Mr. Harry’s horse 
should be afraid. 

Mopsy saw them well started on their 
return, and then began to look about her. 
Some parts of the platform at the station 
were quite dry, and, as the stationmaster 
said the train was not due for fifteen min- 
utes, she began to walk around and around. 
The hills beyond were very beautiful with 
mingled mist, cloud, and rain, and the river 
near roared and roared as it dashed over the 


238 


Mopsy. 


rocks and under the covered bridge over 
which the party had just passed. 

Mopsy found herself looking, now beyond 
the station, and now in it. At one end, a 
small storeroom held a motley collection of 
articles, — trucks for moving baggage, sides 
of beef and whole sheep going into market, 
bags and boxes of all sizes and shapes, and 
in a cage some fowls on their way to a mar- 
ketman in town. 

Mopsy amused herself with feeding them 
some oats which stood in a peck measure 
near by, but suddenly ceased from doing 
so when a shrill voice said, — 

“ I have seen you before.” 



“I HAVE SEEN YOU BEFORE,” A ShRILL VoICE SAID 









Hafinah Sweeton, 


239 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

HANNAH SWEETON. 

Mopsy Started, and dropped a handful of 
oats in so doing. She saw before her the 
tall, gaunt woman she had noticed in the 
dismal ladies’ room. 

“Going to Boston?” 

“ Yes,” said Mopsy. 

“ So be I. Jim’s girl wants me to come 
down. Guess you don’t remember me, do 
ye? ” 

“ I think not.” 

“ Why, I fetched a telegraph up to your 
house to yer uncle, or the man that lives 
there.” 

Mopsy brightened. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said kindly ; “ and your 
son is an engineer.” 

“ Oh, no ; he’s fireman, Jim is, and has 


240 


Mopsy. 


been on the road ever sence it cum through. 
He’s going to get married some day. She’s 
a milliner down to Boston, and she sot out 
to have me come down, or else she wouldn’t 
come up here again.” 

Mopsy looked at her new acquaintance. 
Her present dress was not as becoming nor 
attractive as the old sunbonnet and calico 
gown she had seen her wear at their first 
interview. 

“ I didn’t feel’s if I could go just now,” 
continued the woman ; “ but Jim’s all I’ve 
got left, and I reckon you can’t say ‘No’ 
to him very easy. He and she sot their 
heads together, an’ I, jist like an old fool, 
said ‘ Yes.’ I know I shall be sorry ; for 
it’s ten to one if Maria don’t forget the 
cream until it’s too old, and the butter will 
be just about spoiled ! ” 

“ Have you a good girl ? ” asked Mopsy. 

She was anxious to be polite, and did 
not know what to say. 

“ Girl ? No ; Jim’s all I have,” 


Hannah Sweeton. 


241 


“ But you spoke of Maria.” 

“Land sake! she’s brother Job’s oldest 
girl. She’s a schoolmarm to the village, 
and her term’s up ; so her uncle, he set to 
to get her over to keep house for me. I 
expect she’ll make a mess of it, for she’s 
awful fond of singin’, and Jim’s organ is 
right there in the keepin’-room ; an’ between 
dad’s likin’ to hear her sing and her likin’ to 
do it, I suppose it’ll be a sort of hallelujah 
all the time. Dad’s easier than an old shoe ; 
he won’t care; but it won’t last only a week.” 

“Then you will only stay a week?” asked 
Mopsy. 

“ Couldn’t stop any longer ; Maria an’ 
dad would have everything higglety-pigglety 
by that time. How long be you going to 
stay ? ” 

“I do not know ; I am going to see a 
sick friend.” 

“ Fever or anythin’ ?” 

“ I do not know ; she is an old lady, and 
wants to see me very much.” 


242 


Mopsy. 


“ S’pose you know the way ? ” 

“Yes. I can go almost anywhere in 
Boston.” 

“Do tell! Now, I don’t believe I could, 
if I lived there from now to Judgment Day. 
I went down once with dad, and once with 
Jim, and I was completely turned round. 
Even the sun set in the east. But here 
comes the train; wish it was Jim’s, but 
it ain’t. You better git into a seat long 
of me, for it is awful risky travelling 
alone.” 

Mopsy smiled, and followed the strange 
figure. The woman’s fashionable bonnet, 
evidently a present from “ Jim’s girl,” 
seemed to be laughing at the rest of her 
costume, a shiny black silk, made in the 
fashion of at least ten years ago. 

As it was raining, she had covered this 
with a large shawl, although the day was 
warm, and on her arm she carried a large 
carpet-bag of the pattern familiar to all 
searchers in old attics. She had several 


Hannah Sweeton. 


243 


bundles besides ; also an immense bunch of 
brilliant marigolds tied up with tansy. 

The combined odor overcame Mopsy ; 
but she managed to remove the evil by 
suggesting the propriety of putting them 
in the rack overhead, where they would be 
less likely to wither. 

“ I don’t see how your ma can send 
such a young girl as you so far alone,” 
said Jim’s mother, after she was duly settled, 
and had time to observe the glances cast 
at her pretty companion. 

“ My friends will meet me in Boston,” 
said Mopsy, “ and no one ever troubles 
me.” 

She stopped suddenly as she remem- 
bered her encounter on Beacon Street. 

“ Maybe you’ll go back about the time 
I do, and then it would be nicer for you, 
though I expect Jim’s girl will be with 
me ; she promised to come up if I would 
make her a visit first. There’s a big 
family of ’em, — brothers and sisters ; and 


244 


Mopsy. 


some of ’em is away now, so she wanted 
me to come when I could have a room all 
to myself on the back side of the house. 
I couldn’t sleep a wink with all the noises 
going on under the windows ; can you ? ” 

Mopsy said “ she was quite used to it, 
and did not mind the street noises at all.” 

“ Should think you would find it still 
enough up our way.” 

“It is very beautiful,” said Mopsy; “we 
are glad to be there.” 

“ Suppose you won’t stop longer than 
the summer ? ” 

“ I really cannot tell.” 

“ Well, I reckoned that your uncle was 
kind of calculatin’ to stay longer by his 
bargainin’ for dad’s hay, and buying that 
Jersey cow.” 

“ Has he really bought a cow?” asked 
Mopsy, quite forgetting that she intended 
to say, “ The gentleman is not my uncle.” 

“Land, yes! I wanted her, but I couldn’t 
pay such a price as the Merton boys asked 


Ha^inah S'W,eeton. 


245 


for her ; leastways, I wouldn’t, though I 
saved a good bit, what with butter and 
rag-carpets and sich.” 

“ Do you weave carpets ? ” 

“ Yes ; a sight of ’em. There ain’t a 
house between here and the Lower Junc- 
tion that ain’t got some of my work in it. 
You see, dad had a set-back by goin’ out 
West, — lost considerable that way ; so it 
upsot him, an’ he didn’t take hold like he 
used to. The mortoraore to the Merton 

o o 

boys worried him ; so I set to work, an’ 
sez I, ‘ See here, dad, ef you think I’m 
a-goin’ to see my house go inter the 
hands of the Mertons, you don’t know me.’ 
And I got a loom rigged up, and I worked 
pretty steady until I got sick ; an’ then I 
said, ' Better go slow, for a house ain’t 
worth a cent to you after you’re dead,’ so 
I’ve kept along easier sence.” 

“ And I hope you are all right now,” 
said Mopsy. “ I am sure you deserve to 
prosper.” 


246 


Mopsy. 


She had quite forgotten the quaint dress, 
the hard, sun-burned face, and the rough 
hands encased in their cotton gloves. She 
was thinking of the brave soul which sus- 
tained the woman, and she said softly to 
herself, — 

“ Oh, dear ! the tangles are up here, 
even in God’s beautiful country.” 

“ Yes, it’s all right now, and we go to 
sleep under our own roof, thank the Lord ! 
I suppose I might have set up to be 
fashionable or more stylish, but I’ve kind 
of had a feelin’ all through that Jim 
would rather have an honest mother than 
a fine lady in debt. It’s been putty tough 
sometimes, weaving, weaving, weaving on at 
night, when the rest were asleep, and then 
getting up in the morning to cook for the 
men-folks ; but it is done now, and dad seems 
younger an’ happier, and my Jim thinks he’s 
got the smartest mother in the world.” 

“You make me think of a little verse I 
read to mamma yesterday,” said Mopsy. 


Hannah Sweeton, 


247 


“ What was it ? ” 

“ ‘ Such a perfect life as hers again 
In the world we may not see ; 

For her heart was full of love, and her hands 
Were full of charity,’ ” 

repeated the girl. 

“ Humph ! ” was the response; “ nobody 
could ever write verses about me, but I 
like to hear 'em. Sometimes when I have 
been out in the berry pasture pickin’ 
away, something would kind of sing to 
me besides the birds, and it would keep 
sayin’ itself over and over ; and by and 
by, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I 
would burst right out singin’ some of the 
good old pennyri’al tunes my father used 
to sing. Pretty actions for a grown-up 
woman ! But it was kind of satisfyin’, and 
I don’t know as I could have kept on 
without it once in a while.” 

“ The soul’s outing,” said Mopsy softly. 

“ The what ? ” 

“ I heard the Captain talking to mamma 


248 


Mopsy. 


about outings for bodies, — the children’s 
country week, you know, — and mamma 
said, ‘ Every soul needs an outing.’ ” 

“ The land sake ! what queer folks you 
be at your house ! ” 


Opie End of the Tangle. 


249 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

ONE END OF THE TANGLE. 

Mopsy was silent after the last remark 
of her companion. She was wondering 
why Jim’s mother considered her family 
queer, and what the Captain would say 
about it. She did not meditate long, for 
the woman roused herself to say, — 

“ See here, child, don’t for patience’ sake 
say anything about my singin’ in the pas- 
tures and all that ; it sounds awful silly.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Mopsy ; “ it is very nice, 
and I don’t wonder you feel that way. I 
have often thought about it since we came 
here. These women who work so hard 
must get some of this beauty into their 
hearts, and they must think a great deal.” 

“ Think ! Why, bless your soul, child ! 
many’s the time I’ve laid awake at night 


250 


Mopsy. 


thinkin’ of the world all around us, and we 
so quiet, half-asleep like. I said something 
about it to dad once, and he stared at me. 
Dad is a master-hand at raisin’ tobacco, 
but he don’t sense such talk. Women is 
different ; they’ve been thinkin’ since the 
world was made, and it’s my opinion that 
their thinkin’ has been behind a good deal 
of the work done in the world. I did have 
one good talk once about things in general 
with a young girl we had boardin’ with us. 
Poor thing ! I wish I knew what had be- 
come of her.” 

“Was she ill, Mrs. ?” 

“ Land sake ! I haven’t told you my 
name yet, have I ? Well, it’s jest like me. 
My name is Hannah Sweeton. Dad, he’s 
Jeremiah Sweeton — ‘Jerry,’ folks call him. 
I did set out to call the boy after dad, but 
since that fellow was to our house I’ve been 
thankful I didn’t. You see, he was ever- 
lastin’ and everlastin’ talkin’ about ‘ Tom 
and Jerry,’ an’ goin’ down to the brook 


251 


One End of the Tangle 

a-pickin’ mint to make what he called 
‘jewleps.’ It used to grieve her. Some- 
times her eyes would flash, but more times 
she would look just heart-broken.” 

“ Was the lady his wife ? ” 

“Yes, I suppose so; but it was a queer 
thing, anyway. It’s a queer world ; things 
are mixed up worse’n the carpet I wove 
for Miss Jepson. Say she, ‘ Miss Sweeton, 
I want you to make a perfect tangle of 
color ; put in all those I have brought you 
happy-hazard ; ’ and I did. There was a 
broadcloth from a bishop’s coat lying right 
next to a piece of Miss Jepson’s old bom- 
bazine ; Boston and New York and Bom- 
bay and Calcutta pieces were joined and 
put in, side by side.” 

“ Yes,” said Mopsy, “ the tangles are 
everywhere, as poor Jamsie says.” 

“ That’s the sick boy with the horrid 
cough, ain’t it ? ” 

“.Yes ; he is very frail.” 

“ Well, I took a shine to him at once. 


252 Mopsy. 

just as I did to her before I had seen her 
ten minutes.” 

“ Tell me about her, please. It will 
be so nice to have you tell me about it, it 
she really lived here once. What was her 
name ? ” 

“ There, you’ve puzzled me. You see, 
it was the summer dad was away, and 
things were pretty blue for us. I couldn’t 
bear to take Jim out of school, for I had 
always wanted more schoolin’ myself, and so 
I got our schoolmistress to write a notice 
to one of the Boston papers about boarders ; 
and one day I got a letter saying that a 
young married couple would like board for 
a week or two. The cars didn’t come 
through to us then, and we had to meet 
the folks down to Hampton, so we had 
considerable writin’ back an’ forth. Jim 
wrote for me, and the bride’s aunt wrote 
about it, an’ said we was to take good care 
of her, as she has been insane, and we 
must watch her close, and not believe a 


One End of the Taftgle. 253 

word she said, or talk to her, for it made 
her worse. If she grew better, they would 
send for her after a while. Well, they 
came, and that girl’s face will haunt me till 
I die.” 

“Poor thing! Was she really insane?” 

“ No more than you are this minute. I 
used to watch her on the sly. She was 
afraid of him, and used to shiver if he put 
his hand on her. One night I found her 
lying on the wet grass under my bedroom 
window ; and I brought her in, and put her 
on the lounge in the keepin’-room. She 
had been crying until she could not move, 
and when I said her husband would soon 
be back from the village she begged me 
not to tell him. 

“ ‘ Oh, don’t speak of this, dear, good 
woman, or he will kill me I ’ sez she. 

“ ‘ You will kill yourself if you stay out 
in the dew in this way,’ sez I. 

“ ‘ I want to die,’ said she ; ‘ it would be 
rest and peace.’ 


254 


Mopsy. 


“ She was so young, I tried to reason 
with her ; but she only sobbed, so I took 
her up-stairs, and put her to bed. And, by 
and by, he came in, roaring full ; for he 
had been down to the store at the Cor- 
ners, where they make drunkards every 
year; and he began to talk pretty loud, so 
I went to him, and told him unless he was 
quiet he must sleep in the barn. He be- 
haved better after that ; but it was plain to 
see that the poor child was afraid of her 
life. She seemed to have beautiful clothes, 
and the board always came regular from 
this aunt.” 

“ Where did the aunt live ? ” asked 
Mopsy. 

“Well, that was curious too. You see, 
sometimes the letters came from Boston, 
sometimes from New York, and once or 
twice from Lowell. Jim used to fret over 
it a good deal ; and he said he would look 
into it sometime, if he was only a boy. 
When the man went to the village he al- 


One End of the Tangle, 255 

ways locked her in her room; but Jim 
used to let her out by a ladder at the 
window, and then they would be quite 
happy until it was time for him to come 
back. Jim said she wasn’t insane; nothing 
would ever make him believe it. Still, 
she dared not speak out to us. Once she 
wrote a letter to some one, and Jim car- 
ried it to the junction for her ; but the 
postmaster must have had orders, for the 
man himself brought it back, and I heard 
him say, ‘ None of your tricks, now ; you 
belong to me, body and soul ; and if you 
try this again, you’ll suffer.’ At last it 
wore on me so I was sick, and I told 
him he must go ; so he went to Canada, 
he said, where he had folks of his own. 
Three times the poor thing tried to 
run away, and three times he brought her 
back. At last she grew too sick to strug- 
gle any more, and when they left I held 
her in my arms all the way to Hampton. 
There was something she wanted to tell 


256 


Afopsy. 


me, — something she tried to say over 
and over ; but she was afraid of her life.” 

“Why didn’t you have her write it down 
for you ? ” 

“Bless you, child! it would do no good; 
he told every one she was insane, and 
our neighbors all believed it ; and this 
woman, that aunt, wherever she was, 
backed him up.” 

“ And you never heard of her again ? ” 

“Never; only when I washed the white 
curtains in her room I found something 
written on the folds of one end. I did 
not see it at first, and so it was ’most 
rubbed out ; but I took that one out 
of the suds, and put it out and dried it. 
The poor thing must have written it with 
burnt matches; for she never had a pen- 
cil, a bit of paper, or a newspaper allowed 
her after sending that first letter. I never 
could quite make out the words on the 
curtain ; but I put it away, thinking it 
might come of use, and I kept it until last 


One End of the Tangle. 257 

year, when we was fixing up Jim’s room; 
then I copied down the letters as they 
looked, and I’ve got them put away with 
the first letters from the aunt. Land 
sakes ! here we are in Boston, child, and 
there’s your uncle looking for you.” 

Little did he think that the awkward 
woman with Netta held one end of the 
tangle. 


Alopsy. 


258 


CHAPTER XXV. 

mopsy’s promise. 

Mrs. Gaffney was indeed dying, — even 
Dr. Walker admitted it, — and she was 
ready to go. 

When Mopsy entered her old home, 
she found one of the women in the house 
caring for her. 

Mrs. Gaffney’s eyes brightened with 
pleasure when Mopsy opened the door ; 
and when the girl bent over her, and 
kissed her furrowed cheek, she said, — 

“ It’s the only one I’ll get. Miss Mopsy, 
for they are all gone, — me old man and 
me babies.” 

“ Are you suffering much ? ” asked Mopsy. 

“Only for air, dear; it’s the lungs of 
me that is quite worn out. But I have 
something to tell you when you are 


Mopsy's Promise. 259 

quite rested, and there’s none but your- 
self by.” 

“ Let me hear it now, Mrs. Gaffney, if 
it will make you happier.” 

“You see. Miss Mopsy, I’ve had a good 
bit of trouble coming up meself without 
father or mother, and it’s that has worried 
me all this time.” 

“Talk slowly, and rest at times,” said 
Mopsy, as she saw how hard it was for 
her friend to speak. 

“ I must be through with it before an- 
other ill turn takes me. It’s about Spud 
and Tishy, miss. You see, when they came 
here I took pity on the mother, with her 
soft ways, and I knew she did not belong 
to the likes of us ; and so I was as kind as 
I could be, seeing that my own old man 
was very restless, and making himself 
wretched. Well, one day, just before the 
poor thing died, she called me to her, and 
says she, ‘ Mrs. Gaffney, you have been 
kind to us since we came here, and I want 


26 o 


Mopsy. 


to thank you.’ And I says, ‘ It would be 
a bad heart that would be otherwise to 
you, miss.’ And then she says, ‘ I have 
a favor to ask, and that is ’ — O Miss 
Mopsy, it breaks my heart to tell it, seeing 
I was to blame.” 

“ Go on, Mrs. Gaffney ; I know you have 
not done anything really wrong.” 

“You see, it was about the letter, and 
I was angry with you that day, for it 
seemed like you knew ; but you couldn’t. 
Well, the dear lady says, ‘ I have suffered 
all my life, Mrs. Gaffney, but my children 
must not. I have wealthy friends here in 
Boston, and a dear, dear uncle who was 
very kind to me, and when I am gone 
there will be no more trouble, and he will 
care for my poor darlings. If I were to see 
him, and tell him how I have been wronged, 
it would break his heart ; and I could never 
see him without telling him alb I want 
to spare him pain, even when I am dead; 
and so I suffer here, — not alone, for I have 


Mopsy's Promise. 


261 


my little ones, and you with your kind 
heart and willing hands, and, best of all, my 
hope, my trust in the everlasting promises.’ 
And then she put a letter into my hands ; 
and says she, ‘ Promise me that you will 
deliver this to the number and address 
written upon it as soon as I am buried.’ 
And I said, ‘Indeed I will, dear lady;’ and 
she said, ‘ Promise that no one shall breathe 
one word of this to their father — my chil- 
dren’s father.’ You see, she never called 
him husband ; I minded that often. Well, 
I promised that too, and I said of my own 
free will if any one got it from me it would 
be when I was dead ; for, deliver it I would. 
O Miss Mopsy ! may the Holy Mother 
forgive me for such rash talk, and I only 
a poor, weak creature ! ” 

She rested again for some time, and 
then resumed her story : — 

“ Well, dear, that very night, before her 
delicate little body was in the grave, the 
letter was stolen from me. You see, my 


262 


Mopsy. 


old man brought in a sup of beer, anc 
being tired-like and nervous over her lay- 
ing dead up-stairs, and the boy takin’ on 
so, an’ her husband dead drunk — why, 
when my man says to me, ‘ Take a sup of 
this to warm your heart up a bit,’ why^ 
thin I took it, and not another thing did 
I know until it was broad day again, and 
the letter was gone. That was suspicious- 
like, ’cause I was alone with her so long.” 

“Don’t cry, Mrs. Gaffney; you are too 
weak. It will come right now. I will find 
Spud’s great uncle, trust me ; only tell me 
the name.” 

“ There’s the great trouble of it, miss,” 
she said, while tears of contrition rolled 
down her face. “ I couldn’t read myself, 
so I had just put it in the bosom of me 
dress, waiting to ask the boy to read it as 
soon as ever he could stop mourning for 
his mother. But before I ever did it the 
letter was gone ; and all the while Spud 
was sick I said if he died of his poverty 


Mopsys Promise, 263 

it would be a sin on me forever ; and I 
couldn’t bring my mind to speak of it, see- 
ing it might bring my own into trouble.” 

“Your own, Mrs. Gaffney?” 

“Yes. You see, it was my own husband 
as must have took it, although he denied 
it ; but, after that, him and Manning was 
great friends for a few days, and he 
stopped cornin’ to me for money. O 
blessed Virgin ! how I have suffered for 
my sin ! ” 

“ And did your husband never con- 
fess?” 

“ There was no time, miss. You see, 
he was run over soon after at the cross- 
ing, and when he was brought in there 
was no letter to be found.” 

“ Perhaps it has found its way to the 
right owner now,” said Mopsy. 

“ If I could think that, miss, I could 
die easier ; and that’s what I want you to 
promise, for I know you will keep it true. 
I never dared tell Spud, the poor lamb ! ” 


264 


Mopsy. 


“ What shall I promise, Mrs. Gaffney ? ” 

“ Just this : that you’ll keep seekin’ and 
seekin’ until you find the gentleman they 
was to find ; for I’ll not rest easy in my 
grave until it is done.” 

“ I promise,” said Mopsy solemnly. 

“ And promise me, true and faithful, that 
my money shall be used for them if you 
fail ; and if you find him, and they will 
not want for it, you are to keep it your- 
self, as the will says.” 

“But, Mrs. Gaffney” — began Mopsy. 

“ Say not a word, child, not a word ; 
it’s simple justice that an old woman with- 
out kith or kin should leave her hard 
earnings to them she has robbed.” 

“ If I find their relative, then all will be 
well.” 

“Then it will be your own. Miss Mopsy, 
— all your own, though little enough it 
is ; just the rent of this house, and a bit 
in the bank. The Captain knows, and it’s 
all settled, miss, only you must not tell 


Mopsy's Promise. 


265 


him about the letter until I am at rest ; 
for the shame would make me suffer, to see 
his kind face, and he here praying with me 
only last night ! Where is he now, miss ? ” 

“ He has gone to his sick friend again ; 
he will return here soon, he said.” 

“ To think of his being so good to a 
po6r old body like me ! When his friend 
was making out the papers I said he must 
have the bit of money and the house, for 
I knew he would use it well ; but the Cap- 
tain said no, he had enough now for his 
needs, and was there no one I loved I 
could leave it to ? And I said, ‘ There’s 
not a being I am so fond of as Miss 
Mopsy, and yet the two little Mannings 
may need it more.’ And then he said, so 
quiet -like, ‘ Do what you please with it, 
Mrs. Gaffney ; leave me out entirely ; ’ so 
there it stands, miss.” 

“ It is very kind in you to think of me, 
Mrs. Gaffney; perhaps I shall be compelled 
to use money in my search.” 


266 


Mopsy. 


“ Never give it up until the last dollar 
is gone, if you would have me rest.” 

“ I will never give it up, either with or 
without money,” said Mopsy earnestly. 

“ You will not think of remaining here 
all night, will you ? ” asked Miss Walker, 
as she came in, about sunset. 

“Oh, yes,” said Mopsy; “it is a com- 
fort to her, and I am glad to do so.” 

“ No wonder my brother calls you a 
heroine. I could not stay in this ill-smell- 
ing place alone all night with that poor 
old creature, even if it would make her 
comfortable. I might be willing, you 
know, but the flesh is weak.” 

They were talking in the hall outside. 

“ There is nothing heroic in doing 
one’s duty,” said Mopsy, blushing; “and 
you know I am used to sickness and 
misery.” 

“ You are an Easter lily in a tomb,” 
said Miss Walker, giving her a good-by 
kiss. “ Well, if you will stay, Miss How- 


Mopsy's Promise. 


267 


ard, I will send brother down to look 
after you, and thus relieve my conscience.” 

“ Oh, no ! I do not need any one. Su- 
ky’s mother is up-stairs, the people in the 
house are kind, though poor ; and, indeed, 
I won’t mind, although the air seems sti- 
fling after a month in the country.” 

“ Good-by, little sister of charity. I shall 
come and take you away in the morning.” 


268 


Alopsy. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Bessie’s preserver at brookline. 

“ Did you say that you brought Miss 
Howard in town to-day ? ” asked Judge 
Hunt of the Captain, who was preparing 
some fruit for his friend. 

“ No ; she came in, and I met her,” said 
the Captain with a smile. 

“ But you sent for her. Didn’t I hear you 
tell Crosby something about it, and about 
an old woman who wanted to see her ? ” 

“ Yes ; the old lady will be buried to- 
day ; and, after that. Miss Howard would 
like to call on you and deliver a message 
from your daughter.” 

“ Poor Pussy ! she is very fond of me, 
and I am of her. How my boy can shut 
his eyes to all her good qualities I cannot 
understand.” 


Bessie s Preserver at Brookline. 269 

“ He will be forced to discover them 
now. My last tidings proved the success 
of our plan.” 

“ Say your plan, Brown. When will our 
little reader come out ? ” 

“ This evening, perhaps.” 

“ I shall be glad to see her; and do you 
know. Brown, I have been thinking that 
the small amount you paid for that little 
shanty in the countr)^ is quite too small a 
recompense for saving our Bessie. I wish 
I could do something more for the girl.” 

“ You must not forget our compact, sir. 
Neither Miss Howard nor her mother dreams 
that you were the purchaser ; and the time 
may come, indeed I hope it will, when you 
can be of great service to the family.” 

“ There must be a history back of her ; 
no girl with that face and bearing could 
be a denizen of the North End without 
wrong-doing or serious misfortune some- 
where.” 

The old question,” said the Captain : 


270 Mopsy. 

“ ‘ Who has sinned that this man was born 
blind?”’ 

“ Do you know her history, Brown ? ” 

“ I have gathered up something ; perhaps 
Miss Howard will tell you more.” 

“ I wish she would. It is a good thing 
for Jennie to know them. The poor little 
woman has had a superficial training, or 
rather none at all ; and I argue that only 
pure coin will assert itself despite such 
heavy odds.” 

“ You are quite right, too. Mrs. Hunt 
could always be relied on in an emergency ; 
she will develop into a grand woman.” 

Three sincere mourners attended Mrs. 
Gaffney’s funeral, — three who knew the 
warmth of her honest Irish heart, and the 
kindly deeds she was ever performing. 
Mopsy, the Captain, Miss Walker, and the 
doctor were all in the church by special re- 
quest of the dead woman ; but neither Miss 
Walker nor her brother could be considered 
mourners. Those who were sad, even while 


Bessie s Preserver at Brookline , 271 

they rejoiced at her release, were Mopsy, 
the Captain, and a poor old man for whom 
she had cared many long months. Mopsy 
was weary and worn. The excitement of her 
hurried journey, the night of watching, and 
the solemn charge given her, all seemed to 
depress her, in addition to her loss ; for Mrs. 
Gaffney had been indeed her humble friend 
from the hour of her arrival in Boston. 
The church was crowded, the air hot and 
sickening, and all were rejoiced when they 
entered the carriages to be driven away. 

How weary she was, poor Mopsy did 
not know until she found herself really on 
her way to Brookline. Then nature asserted 
itself, and she sank back on the cushions, 
pale and still. Captain Brown did not dis- 
turb her, save to put a carriage- pillow under 
her head. She was not sleeping, he well 
knew, and very thankful was he that the 
judge had sent Thomas in for them. As 
the air grew cooler beyond the city Mopsy 
rallied a little. 


272 


' Mopsy. 


“Please excuse me,” she said. “The air 
in the church seemed like prison to me, and 
brought back a terrible scene. It always 
affects me so. I wish it did not.” 

“ I shall not forgive you if you try to talk ; 
you must not carry that white face into my 
friend’s sick-room.” 

“ He is better now, is he not?” 

“ Oh, yes ; sits up a little, and drives out 
now every day. He is quite like himself.” 

When the carriage drove up, the cook, 
a good, motherly old lady, came to receive 
her master’s guest. She had been in the 
family a long time, and was very fond of 
the judge. 

“I’ll show you your room, miss; and the 
judge says you are to do just as you like 
in every way. . If you feel like coming to 
his room for a few moments you are to do 
so ; and if not, you are to rest.” 

“ I will go to my room,” said Mopsy ; 
“ I am too dusty to see him now.” 

She entered the room assigned her with 


Bessie s Preserver at Brookline. 273 

a beating heart ; its freshness, its elegance 
and comfort suited her. 

“ This,” said she, “ seems like home ; ” 
and then she sat down and wept bitterly. 

When Nancy, the second girl, knocked 
at the door, she thought she heard some 
one saying, “O papa, papa! why did we 
lose you, too ? ” 

Mopsy recovered herself as soon as 
Nancy entered. 

“ The Captain sent these flowers up to 
you. Miss Howard ; and he says you had 
better drink this, and lie down for an 
hour before dinner.” 

Nancy held on a silver tray some beau- 
tiful flowers and a glass of refreshing lem- 
onade. 

“Thank you, and the Captain too. Per- 
haps I had better lie down ; I have been 
up for two nights.” 

“ To be sure,” said the girl ; “ and the 
judge was saying you had better have a 
glass of wine; but the Captain knows you 


Mopsy, 


274 

never took it, so master said, ‘ Tell her to 
order anything she likes, Nancy ; for the 
young lady who saved our Bessie is to be 
made much of.’ ” 

“It was such a little thing,” said Mopsy ; 
and then she drank the lemonade, and sat 
down to admire the flowers. After tossing 
her wealth of hair down for a good brush- 
ing, and bathing her swollen eyes, she 
decided to take the Captain’s advice, and 
rest a while. She was quite frightened 
when she awoke to find the ' sunset rays 
stealing in at her windows and the house 
very quiet. She began to dress hurriedly, 
lest she might delay the regular dinner. 
“ I wish I had something to wear besides 
my simple black gown,” said she ; “ but 
mamma would call that silly pride.” Her 
only wardrobe Tor the occasion consisted 
of her best black dress and a neat piece 
of fresh white lace which she carried in a 
paper. This she fastened with some pan- 
sies, and then went down. Captain Brown 


Bessie's Preserver at Brookline. 275 

was walking on the veranda, waiting for 
her, while, inside, the judge was listening 
eagerly for her coming. 

“ How bright you are after your nap. 
Miss Howard,” said the Captain; “you are 
in no way related to the pale young lady 
who drove with me from town.” 

“No,” said Netta lightly; “I am only 
her second cousin, or perhaps her fourth. 
Your lemonade, flowers, and a nap have 
worked a charm.” 

“ Then let us go to the judge before it 
is lost.” 

The invalid was half reclining when Netta 
went in, and as she advanced toward him 
his face lighted with pleasure. 

“ My dear girl,” said he, “ how kind you 
are to come out here to see an old man ! 
I shall never be able to thank you.” 

“ I am very glad to come, sir ; it is so 
beautiful, and I was very tired. I hope 
you will excuse me for going to sleep with- 
out seeing you.” 


276 


Mopsy. 


“ I will excuse everything you may choose 
to do, my dear, although I cannot half see 
you in this uncertain light. How is the 
mother, and that wide-awake little chap 
who wanted some money? The Captain is 
shaking his head at me, I see. You and 
I have never met before. You haven’t per- 
formed an heroic act which makes me your 
debtor ; you are simply a good little girl 
who visits sick people.” 

“ That is all,” said Mopsy, with a laugh ; 
“ and you are only the kind gentleman who 
needs to be visited ; but we will be fast 
friends.” 

“Indeed we will, and Brown may try to be 
a tyrant if he likes. Do you hear. Brown? 
Miss Howard and I are old friends, — rela- 
tives, in fact, — and you are not to interfere.” 

“ I sincerely hope your jest may prove 
a pleasant fact, sir,” said the Captain ; “ you 
and I are rather destitute of relatives.” 

“ Perfectly bankrupt on that score, Brown. 
But sit down. Miss Howard, until the bell 


Bessie's Preserver at Brookline. 277 

rings for dinner. After you have eaten as 
well as slept, I suppose our tyrannical friend 
will allow us to talk.” 

“ And prove ourselves good friends, if 
not relatives,” said Mopsy. 

“ I will be your long-lost guardian, saved 
from the wreck of a steamer, and found 
floating on a log,” said the judge in a mock- 
ing tone. 

Good heavens ! What had he done ? 
All the brightness faded from the girl’s 
face, and she sat like one paralyzed. 


278 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MEMORIES. 

Captain Brown, who was standing be- 
hind Mopsy, or Miss Howard, as we must 
now call her, was surprised at the sudden 
silence which fell upon his friends. He 
had been an amused listener, and was 
secretly rejoiced to see the improvement in 
the judge. Dr. Crosby had said, “ Rouse 
him, keep him cheerful, tell him stories, 
make him laugh, do anything and every- 
thing to amuse him,” and the Captain 
had obeyed ; but not once during his stay 
had he been able to make his friend laugh 
and joke as this young girl had done im- 
mediately on her arrival. 

The Captain stepped forward a little to 
observe her face. She was terribly pale ; 
he could see that even in the fading light. 


Memories, 


279 


Before he could speak, the judge had said 
tenderly, “ What is it, my child ; tell me, 
can I help you ? ” 

“ Nothing, thank you, nothing ; I am 
better now.” 

“ You are worn out, and I should re- 
member it. Brown, as soon as you have 
dined, send her to bed.” 

“ Indeed, you must not,” said the girl, 
rousing herself. “ I will explain it to you 
to-morrow, perhaps, and it is no fault of 
yours. I ” — 

The dinner-bell rang, and the judge hur- 
ried them away, declaring that he was in 
a starving condition himself, and must soon 
be permitted to go to the dining-room. 

Early the next morning the Captain 
went away to town. He had important 
business matters to arrange for the judge ; 
and, as he was executor, he must attend 
to the settlement of Mrs. Gaffney’s es- 
tate. Miss Howard was up early, and 
breakfasted with him. 


28 o 


Mopsy, 


“ What shall I do for the judge while 
you are gone ? ” said she. 

“ Obey Crosby’s orders to the letter,” 
he replied ; “ and if you could think of 
any little delicacy for his late breakfast, I 
know it would please him. Cook will 
welcome you to her kitchen, and a little 
praise from you will make her your firm 
friend.” 

The first pleasant task was to visit the 
garden, where, by the orders of its owner, 
she was desired to select anything she 
pleased. After gathering a few rare flow- 
ers she returned to the house. The nurse 
reported the judge still gaining, and quite 
hungry. “ Could Miss Howard think of 
something for his breakfast ? ” She did 
think, and put her thought in form ; for 
half an hour later she appeared in the sick 
man’s room, where he sat awaiting the ar- 
rival of his tray. A table was drawn up 
beside his chair, and in a few moments 
Netta sat by him, offering her choicest 


Memories. 


281 


morsels, while the nurse went about his 
small duties. 

It was a delightful repast. The fresh 
flowers in their dainty vase, the ripe fruit 
and costly china, all served to quicken the 
appetite. 

“ I have not enjoyed anything so much 
since my little girl left me,” said the judge. 

Netta’s eyes sparkled. She remembered 
her mother’s words when the Captain pro- 
posed this visit. 

“ It is just possible,” said she, “that 
your presence may cheer him ; and if you 
could do that it would richly repay us for 
our separation. We owe a debt to all suf- 
fering humanity, since kind hands have 
made our sufferings less.” 

“Tell me your thought,” said the judge; 
“ your face proves that it is a pleasant 
one.” 

Netta repeated her mother’s words. 

“ How came your mother to be such a 
sufferer, my dear ? Don’t answer unless 


282 


Mopsy, 


you choose ; but the Captain has told me 
so much about you all that I feel in- 
terested.” 

“ Does he know about the accident, 
sir ? ” 

“ I think not — at least, he never men- 
tioned it.” 

“ I said I would tell you last night, and 
I will try. We never speak of it. Mamma 
avoids it ; but I am sure she will not mind 
telling you. It brings up such painful 
scenes that sometimes it makes me feel ill, 
— the horrid burning, the rush of waters, 
and the dreadful, dreadful sights ! ” 

“ Don’t tell me, dear, then. You shall 
rest here, and not be tortured. I shall 
treat you as if you were my own dear Isaj 
who would have been a woman now. You 
remind me of her, and yet you are un- 
like.” 

“ I should like you to know something, 
sir — one thing at least,” said the girl with 
conscious pride. “ We were not always 


Memories, 283 

poor ; we once had a beautiful home like 
this.” 

“ I suspected it ; so did Brown ; indeed, he 
knew it from the first. The fellow delights 
in hunting up fine people in unfortunate 
circumstances. Do you know, he said yes- 
terday that the next generation would learn 
how to manage better; that it would keep 
people from getting into the slums rather 
than picking them out, and if he had a 
fortune — I wish the boy had a veritable 
Bank of England — if he had a fortune, he 
would spend it on people of refinement who 
were reduced in circumstances ; for they 
alone know the worth of mere money, and 
could feel its loss keenly.” 

“ Isn’t he noble?” 

“ I wish he belonged to me,” said the 
judge. “ Like Sir William Wallace with 
Edwin Ruthven, I want to claim him as 
my own.” 

“ But Edwin asked Sir William to call 
him brother.” 


284 


Mopsy. 


“Ho! ho! So she reads, does she?’’ 

“ Oh, mamma read us all those things 
long ago, when we lived in Florida.” 

“ In Florida ? My poor sister died there, 
the last of our once large family — save me.” 

“Were you ever there?” 

“ Oh, yes ; I went at the end, and left 
her husband there. He died, poor fellow, 
soon after, while I was in Europe.” 

“ Mamma was happy at Fort Brooke.” 

“ Fort Brooke ? Why, my sister’s husband 
was there ! ” 

“ Was he ? How pleased mamma would 
be to see any one who was ever at Fort 
Brooke.” 

“ Where was your mother educated, my 
dear?” 

“ In a convent, sir ; you see, grandpa had 
lost all his children ; and when mamma was 
born he sent her away at once to a North- 
ern convent, and she did not know when 
her own mother died. Her father would 
not let her be brought to Florida until she 


Memories. 


285 

was older. When he died, one of the sisters 
took her there, and left her with her uncle, 
her father’s brother.” 

“ My poor sister’s children all died,” 
said the judge. “ It seemed almost like 
a terrible judgment to her, and I think it 
killed her at last.” 

“ Tell me about the young lady, please,” 
said Netta, suddenly remembering her 
charge. 

“My Isa? She was my brother’s daugh- 
ter,” said he, “and the story is a long and 
sad one ; yet I love to talk of her. It is 
time for me to drive now, my little girl, 
and you shall go with me if you will not 
mind my taking up more than half the 
room.” 

“ I shall be quite willing to allow you 
two-thirds of it,” said she. 

“ Then I will talk of my dear girl as 
we drive ; for the doctor insists on plenty 
of fresh air, and we will be gone some 


time. 


286 


Mopsy. 


“That will be delightful. Do you know, 
it seems to me that I must be dreaming, 
living here in your house, riding in your 
carriage, and seeing all these things ; it 
reminds me of poor papa so much and 
the old days.” 

“How much your father must have loved 
you ! ” said the judge, as he looked at the 
trim figure and beautiful face. 

“ It was nearer worship, I think, sir ; he 
never saw Natty, you know.” 

Thomas was ready now, so was nurse, 
Nancy, and all the rest of the household ; 
for the daily drive was a great event since 
the terrible shock, and all in the house 
were anxious to see if the master could use 
his poor right foot even a little better than 
on the previous day. He was improving; 
he leaned less heavily on Thomas and his 
crutch, and even Nancy smiled triumphantly 
as the judge placed his lame foot upon 
the cushions without assistance. Mopsy 
followed him, and unconsciously made a 


Memories. 


287 


charming picture as she leaned from the 
carriage door to take a pillow from Nancy. 

“ She looked like she was in a frame,” 
said cook ; “ and I do hope she won’t go 
away for a while, the judge is so fond of 
her, and her ways are so like Miss Isa’s.” 

They were gone a long time ; but the 
story of Isa was not told, there was so 
much to see and admire. When they re- 
turned, Captain Brown stood on the steps 
to receive them, with a package of letters 
in his hand. 

“ Welcome home, travellers,” said he ; 
and in another moment Netta was absorbed 
in a 'letter from her mother. 


288 


Mopsy, 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MOPSY HEARS THE STORY OF ISA. 

“ Who was the travelling companion from 
the Hills?” asked Captain Brown that after- 
noon, when the trio of friends were seated 
on the piazza. 

“ The same one who brought your tele- 
gram,” replied Netta ; “ she bowed to you.” 

“Yes, I saw that she did ; but I did not 
remember her. I met her on the street 
to-day.” 

“How I should like to see her!” said 
Netta. “You have no idea how good she 
is.” 

“ Every one seems to be good in your 
eyes,” said the judge, laughing. 

“ Not Mr. Manning,” said Netta with a 
shudder; “I can never think of poor Spud 
without wishing to punish him.” 


Mopsy Hears the Story of Isa. 289 

“ You need dread him no longer,” said 
the Captain quietly; “he died in prison last 
week.” 

“Are you sure — quite sure?” asked 
Netta. 

“ Very sure ; and henceforth I am the 
guardian of your friends Jamsie and Tishy.” 

“ O Captain, I am so glad for them ! 
Perhaps it is wrong, — I hope it is not, — 
but I am glad for everybody. Poor Mrs. 
Gaffney dreaded his coming back, and she 
has gone too.” 

“ What does the good mother say about 
your return ? ” asked the Captain, as he saw 
her face growing pitiful and sad. 

“ She hopes it may be soon ; she had 
received your letter, asking her to let me 
remain until the judge is able to go up, and 
she is quite willing, if I can be of use.” 

“ Of course you can. Why, Brown, she 
prepared a breakfast for me that would be 
the envy of the chef at Young’s.” (Netta 
tried to speak.) “ And this morning she 


290 


Mopsy. 


entertained me with a story told her by this 
eccentric good friend of hers. What is her 
name ? ” 

“Mrs. Sweeton, sir; Hannah Sweeton.” 

“Yes, that’s it ; well, she told me a story 
that would rouse your indignation if you are 
the coolest fellow in Boston.” 

“ It was perfectly true, too,” said Netta. 
“You must remember the bargain, judge ; 
you are to tell a story to-morrow.” 

“ That I will do ; I am so grateful to the 
Princess for sparing you to me that I am 
ready to consent to almost anything.” 

The Princess did not know that her fame 
had extended so far. The judge had long 
letters from his children, telling him a dozen 
things he must do, and as many more he 
must not ; and the burden of all was : “ Get 
well enough to travel, and come to us at 
once.” 

“ Why does Captain Brown go away so 
much ? ” asked Netta the next day of the 
judge, when they were in the library. 


Mopsy Hears the Story of Isa, 29 1 

“ Partly on his own business, partly on 
mine. Brown has some trouble on his 
mind. He does not tell me all of it, but 
he says every clew to the business in hand 
breaks at a certain point. He has been 
working over it for several months now.” 

“ Oh, dear! ” said Netta wearily ; “ every- 
body has a tangle. I wish they had not. 
There is Miss Walker, the doctor’s pretty 
sister. I was almost envying her, and lo ! 
it turned out that her lover died just as 
they were ready to be married, and her 
house was all furnished and her wedding- 
gifts arranged. Jamsie is right ; the tangles 
are everywhere.” 

“ How is it with you, child?” asked the 
judge, as he secretly wished he might spare 
her from all evil. 

“ I have always been in a tangle, some- 
how ; but mamma says the end is peace if 
the heart is right.” 

The judge was silent for a moment; then 
he said kindly, — 


292 


Mopsy, 


“ My dear, will you bring me my watch 
from my room up-stairs ? ” 

Netta hurried away to get it, wondering 
why a watch was required, when the beauti- 
ful clock on the library mantel struck every 
half-hour. 

He took it from her hand when she re- 
turned,. and opened the seal, but did not 
look at it. 

“Now, my child, I will tell you the 
story.” 

He repeated it to her much as he had 
done to the Captain ; but long before he 
had finished the recital Netta had nestled 
close to his side, and laid her hand on his 
arm. 

He knew she was crying softly, although 
he could not see her face. 

“There, there, child! I should not have 
told you all this ; you have seen so much 
sorrow now.” 

“I am glad to hear it, glad to know it, 
and I love her too. No wonder she was 


Mopsy Hears the Story of Isa. 293 

fond of you; no wonder her poor heart was 
broken ; it was worse than poor mamma g^oing 
out of school to find herself an orphan.” 

“If we could only find some trace of 
her,” said the judge ; “if we only knew 
where she went, who cared for her, and, if 
she is dead, who was with her when she 
died ; I could rest easier if I knew.” 

“Could you never see the coachman?” 

“Never; I should hang him if I could. 
He changed his name a dozen times or 
more, the rascal ! ” 

“Did you never hear from him?” 

“ Once only, and then in a strange way. 
He sent a messenger, telling me that my 
niece was in the village of Bolton, sick and 
needy, and would like some money. I sent 
the money, but soon found that no such 
person had ever been in Bolton. At an- 
other time I received a strange letter from 
a small town in Canada, asking for aid, as 
she was ill and insane, but still refused to 
see me. I sent the money again ; it was 


294 


Mopsy. 


received by a strange woman, and my agent 
could not find any trace of the parties. 
Then came another message : ‘You will be 
troubled no more at present ; your niece 
died in an insane asylum.’ ” 

Netta listened attentively. Canada — in- 
sane — moving about. Could it be ? 

A sudden light seemed to come to her. 
“If it is true, if I am right, how can I tell 
him ? A sudden shock might kill him 
-now, and perhaps I am quite wrong.” Mrs. 
Gaffney’s words came to her with renewed 
force : — 

“ Promise that you’ll keep seekin’ and 
seekin’ until you find the gentleman they 
was to find.” 

“ Judge,” said Netta, in tones fairly trem- 
ulous with suppressed excitement, “ do you 
think that your niece was ever here in 
Boston ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no ! she could not have kept 
away from me, for the poor child knew how 
I loved her.” 


Mopsy Hears the Story of Isa. 295 

“Do you suppose that she had any chil- 
dren?” 

“ No, no ; I think she died broken- 
hearted, believing that I, her uncle, sent 
her from me because she was in my way. 
My poor, poor Isa ! ” 

“ Dear judge, I am only a young girl, 
and not very wise, but I think I could 
find out something about her; may I try?” 

The judge raised his tear-stained eyes 
to look at her, and met her flushed, eager 
face. 

“You, child — you? What could you do, 
where detectives, lawyers, and agents have 
failed ? It is kind in you to think of it, 
generous to offer, and I bless you for it ; 
but it is useless, — the mystery will never 
be cleared up.” 

“Dear judge, may I try? May I ask 
questions, and see papers and letters ? 
May I have one chance to set your kind 
heart at rest ? ” 

What answer could he make to such an 


296 


Mopsy. 


appeal? “Yes, child, you may try; but it 
is hopeless,” he said, as he raised her 
hand to his lips. 

“ Will you forgive me if I seem to 
neglect you ? Will you be patient if I am 
impatient? Will you never condemn me if 
I should fail ? ” 

“ Dear heart,” said the judge, “ I should 
be so sorry to have you fail that I warn 
you not to begin. I do not see the faint- 
est ray of hope.” 

“I do; but I must not spoil all by over- 
eagerness. To-morrow I must go away, 
and I will ask Captain Brown to go with 
me. I may not come back to you at 
once ; if I do not, you will know why. 
Please do not speak of this to Captain 
Brown ; let me tell him in my own way, 
and if I succeed ” — 

“If you find one proof, one fact con- 
nected with her life after she left me, I 
shall call it success ; hitherto it has been 
all mystery most profound, and bitter mis- 


Mopsy Hears the Story of Isa. 297 

ery, for I fear some of my own family are 
concerned in it.” 

“ Still you wish to learn all the truth ? ” 

“ All, child. Without a full knowledge 
of the entire affair I could not properly do 
justice to living or dead. You look like 
one inspired, child. Tell me what you 
think.” 

She leaned over, and whispered in his 
ear. 

“ Father of mercies ! ” said he, “ I think 
you may be right ; and, if you are, how 
can I ever reward you ^ ” 


2gS 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SEEKING AND SEEKING. 

All the next day Netta Howard was 
busy, so busy that she scarcely tasted the 
food Inky’s mother prepared for her. 

On the previous evening the judge had 
retired early, and Netta had held a long 
conference with the Captain. It resulted 
in his going with her first to a house in 
Dover Street to find Mrs. Sweeton, and 
thence to the old Endicott Street Home. 

The two women sat in the reading-room 
turning over papers and letters on one of 
the tables. 

“The bundle will be here to-morrow,” 
said Mrs. Sweeton. “ Jim said he would 
hand it to Jack Overly, and he comes in 
first ; so, if you can help me find the 
way down to the Fitchburg Depot, why, 


Seeking and Seeking. 299 

we can have more to prove it as far as I 
know.” 

Captain Brown came in and sat down 
beside the table. 

“How do you succeed thus far?” he 
asked. 

“ Excellently,” replied Netta ; “ only it 
seems almost irreverent to touch these 
things.” 

“ Think of the result if your search leads 
to success. I thought of applying to you 
for aid in this very work, and yet you are 
doing it at your own desire, and far better 
than I could have done.” 

“ If Mrs. Gaffney were only here now, 
she would be so happy to assist us,” said 
Netta. 

“ She is doubtless happier,” replied he ; 
“ but I came to remind you that the boys, 
your boarders, are already aware of your 
presence in town, and they insist on giving 
you a little ovation this evening. Will you 
be too weary to see them ? ” 


300 


Mopsy. 


“ Never ; it would rest me, and I want 
to thank them for keeping things in such 
good order.” 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Sweeton will stay too.” 

The good woman declared herself ready 
to see all the sights, as that was what she 
came to Boston for, only the folks up to 
Jim’s girl’s might think she was lost. 

Captain Brown sent a messenger boy to 
reassure them, and then went out to order 
a substantial dinner for Miss Howard and 
her companion. 

He had much more to do than he 
anticipated in settling up Mrs. Gaffney’s 
affairs, and the task was by no means un- 
pleasant ; for the good woman’s bit in the 
bank proved to be a snug sum, — the ac- 
cumulation of years. 

“ How little I thought,” said he, “ when 
I first came here, led by such a faint, 
almost hopeless, clew, that I should now be 
the means of furnishing so much happi- 
ness ! Whittier was right : — 


Seeking and Seeking. 


301 


“ ‘ Life made by duty epical 
* And rhythmic with the truth.’ ” 

The judge had retired when the Captain 
and Miss Howard reached home that night, 
after seeing Mrs. Sweeton safe among her 
friends. 

Netta was glad of this. She did not 
wish to answer any questions until Mrs. 
Sweeton had received her package from 
home, and certain other witnesses were 
taken care of. She was not forgotten, 
however, for on her table she found a 
note addressed to herself. She opened 
it, and read : — 

“ Do not weary yourself, dear child, and do not 
grieve if your loving, generous service comes to 
naught. ‘The mills of the gods grind slowly, but 
they grind exceeding small.’ It will all come right 
by and by, and I must wait and hope. 

Your faithful friend, 

J. B. H.” 

She did not need the initials to remind 
her that the judge was her correspondent ; 


302 


Mopsy. 


he had written this just before retiring, 
lest she might come back disheaftened. 

“Dear good man!” said the girl; “I 
would not spend these long summer days 
in this search, if I did not feel sure that I 
could obtain his one fact, which will make 
him happy.” 

The next morning she went away again, 
and was tired and pale when night came. 
The judge was waiting for her, and de- 
clared that the work must cease at once. 

“No, no!” exclaimed Netta earnestly; “it 
would ruin all to delay now ; even Captain 
Brown is more hopeful, and, dear Judge, 
you must indulge me for a few days 
longer.” 

Not one word of her hard labor and 
her wearisome search was reported to the 
little family among the hills ; even Mr. 
Harry and his wife were kept in igno- 
rance ; and it was generally supposed that 
dear Netta, as they loved to call her, was 
enjoying delightful leisure. 


Seeking and Seeking. 303 

“ I couldn’t bear to disappoint so many,” 
said Netta to the Captain ; “ and mamma 
would worry about me if she knew.” 

Meantime, the judge was gaining every 
day, and his physician thought he would be 
able to travel in the course of another week. 

Netta read letters, and searched among 
old account-books, finding in each new proof 
of the belief which had crept into her heart. 

“ When you are quite ready for my share 
of the work 1 will produce it,” said the 
Captain one morning, as he went into 
the reading-room with a handful of letters. 
“ You have found the missing link for 
me.” 

“Really, truly?” exclaimed Netta, rising 
up in her eagerness. 

“ Really and truly,” answered the Captain 
cheerfully. “ Sad as all this is to me, your 
enthusiasm has made me look on the bright 
side.” 

“Why should it be sad to you?” asked 
Netta. “You are trying to prove some- 


304 


Mopsy, 


thing to make your friend happy. So am I. 
And now we can tell him, can we not ? ” 

“ This very night, I think, if you can 
complete your condensed report ; we will 
omit the sad details until he is stronger 
and can read them better, for himself.” 

“And I may bring Mrs. Sweeton home 
with me to-night?” 

“ Certainly ; she is an important wit- 
ness.” 

“ How shall we tell him? I do not know 
where to begin.” 

“ He will question you like a lawyer, as 
he is ; and we will all answer him ; thus, we 
can avoid painful detail.” 

“ And his wife ? ” 

“ Heaven help her! she has made us all 
wretched.” 

“ Why do you say ‘ us ’ ? ” 

“ You would make a good lawyer your- 
self,” he replied evasively. 

“ I detest quarrels ; I should never suc- 
ceed.” 


Seeking and Seeking. 305 

Mrs. Sweeton was very much flattered 
when Netta invited her to spend the night 
at Brookline. Her best gown was brushed 
and rebrushed many times for the occasion ; 
and she had already planned a course of 
“ strengthenin’ medicine ” for the judge 
which might have alarmed a famous prac- 
titioner like Dr. Crosby, had he been 
informed of it. 

The evening was very warm, and the air 
was free from dampness ; so the good 
judge received them on the broad piazza. 

“ I am a hundred per cent better to- 
day,” said he, “ and I know I could go in 
to my office with perfect ease, Brown, if 
you and Crosby were not such abominable 
tyrants.” 

“ When you return from the country you 
can do so with safety,” replied the Captain. 

“ So my little friend has met with some 
success to-day, has she? I see it in her 
face,” said the judge, taking Netta by the 
hand as she came up the steps. 


3o6 


Mopsy, 


“ Glorious success, Judge. You are to 
have it for your dessert.” 

She was about to pass on to her room 
when he detained her. 

“ Answer one question, child,” he said. 

Twenty, if you like.” 

“ Is my little girl living and suffering, or 
is she beyond it all ? ” 

“ Beyond it all,” replied Netta, as she 
looked into his benevolent face and kindly 
eyes. “ Beyond it all ; but she left you a 
legacy.” 

He did not seem to hear the concluding 
sentence, but simply repeated her words to 
himself ; and, as she passed on through the 
hall, she heard him still saying, “ Beyond it 
all.” 

The dinner was over, and Mrs. Sweeton 
was seated on the porch where she could 
look over the garden with its fountain and 
statuettes. 

“ It’s about the bewtifullist spot I ever 
see,” said she, “only I can’t say as I like 



“So My Little Friend has met with Some Success,” said 

THE Judge. 


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Seeking and Seeking. 307 

to have those naked boys and girls stuck 
up all around.” 

Her remark was addressed to Netta, who 
merely smiled as she heard Mrs. Sweeton’s 
“ art criticism,” she drew a chair close to 
the judge. Captain Brown was talking with 
Thomas at the foot of the steps. 

“ Now, child, I will hear your story,” 
said the judge. “ You tell me Isa is not 
living ? ” 

“Not living, sir; but her children are.” 

“Isa’s children!” exclaimed the judge. 


3o8 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 

“ Thomas,” said Captain Brown, “ you 
must tell the first part, I think. Tell the 
whole, as you have told it to me. There 
is nothing to fear, now. The judge insists 
on hearinor it all.” 

O 

“ I was only a boy,” said Thomas, “ and 
it has worried me awfully ever since. 
There has been times when I thought I 
must go away. Mistress told me I should 
be arrested for stealing if I did, and I 
was scared. Then it all seemed sort of 
forgotten by everybody but me. I had 
gone into the carriage-house, one night, to 
rig a boat, and pretty soon mistress came 
in, talking to the coachman. She said she 
would see that he had money; but I did 
not know what for. He talked with her 


The Mystery Solved. 309 

a good deal, and at different times. At 
last, one night, when they were talking I 
coughed, and I thought mistress would 
kill me ; she threatened to have me put in 
jail unless I swore to do as she told me. 
One night, I was called up out of bed to 
go somewhere with mistress ; the judge 
was away from home, and the coachman 
was going with her, but would not come 
out home again. I dressed myself, and 
went out to the stable. Mistress was there 
all dressed in black, with something over 
her face ; but I knew her voice, and our 
young lady was with her, crying as if she 
might die. At the last she cried so, that 
they lifted her into the carriage, and made 
me get in. I don’t know where we drove; 
I could not see, and I had all I could 
do to mind the horses while the coachman 
and the ladies went inside. After a while 
mistress came out, and the man too, but 
not our young lady. The coachman drove 
us part way home, and then pulled me 


310 


Mopsy. 


out of the carriage, and made me drive 
home and put up the horses, and said if 
ever I breathed a word of all I had seen, 
a secret enemy would always watch me 
and blow my brains out. Mistress gave 
me some new clothes next day and ten 
dollars in money. She often gave me 
money after that, to see after Mr. Harry. 
She said our young lady was sent to a 
convent to school at master’s request ; but 
when the new coachman came he said our 
old one had run away to marry an heiress, 
and everybody knew it. I felt sorry for 
Mr. Harry ; so I stayed on, and I thought 
I would tell the judge some day if I ever 
had a chance ; but I have been afraid, and 
I hope your honor will forgive me.” 

The judge sat with his firm white lips 
pressed together painfully, but no word 
escaped him. 

“Where did you send the trunks and 
boxes after that, Thomas ? ” asked the Cap- 
tain. 


The Mystery Solved, 3 1 1 

“To a little place among the mountains. 
I have the name written down ; I have 
kept it ever since.” 

The man passed a piece of paper to the 
judge. 

“ Now, Mrs. Sweeton, you may tell your 
story,” said Netta ; “ and, dear Judge, please 
do not look so grieved ; Isa’s children will 
be yours.” 

He pressed her hand in silence. 

Mrs. Sweeton told the story of the 
strange man and woman, her boarders, of 
the letters written by the aunt, of the 
money sent, and the words written on the 
window curtain. 

“ Let me see those letters,” demanded 
the judge. 

Mrs. Sweeton gave them to him. He 
read but one, and then groaned aloud, — 

“ True, too true ; God help me ! ” 

Captain Brown went to him, and asked 
if he might not spare himself further pain 
by hearing only the conclusion. 


312 


Mopsy. 


Without a shade of anger on his broad, 
kindly face, without one word of reproach 
for those whose sin had caused so much 
misery, he answered, — 

“ Let me hear all. Brown, every word.” 

As Mrs. Sweeton concluded. Captain 
Brown took up the story, purposely leav- 
ing out much that might wound his sensi- 
tive nature. 

“ I have all the proofs from Canada, where 
they lived. There was a real marriage here 
in Boston, of which I have the necessary 
proof. There was a brief sojourn with this 
good woman, also much moving about and 
many changes. The firstborn, a frail boy, 
is my ward Spud, or Jamsie, and little Tishy 
is her youngest. Everywhere, the mother 
was known as a beautiful young woman, 
always sad, always gentle, especially after 
her children came. The pastor of a little 
Canadian church urged her to tell him of 
her friends, without avail. He was sure 
that some secret cause, which she dared not 


Ihe Mystery Solved, 313 

reveal, had led her to become the wife of the 
coarse creature who claimed to be her law- 
ful husband. While they remained away 
from here, money was sent them in small 
sums ; but there came a time when the 
poor wife longed and prayed to see her old 
home once more. She travelled with her 
children to Boston, was taken ill on the 
way, and was overtaken by her husband, 
who immediately placed her in an obscure 
home in this city, where she died. He 
secretly obtained money from a friend here. 
Isa’s children are now orphans, and I have 
been duly appointed their guardian. They 
will love you as their mother did ; and, I 
hope, bless your old age.” 

“ Thank you. Brown ; thank you,” said 
the judge wearily. 

“ Netta, my dear child, you have indeed 
proved your one fact. God bless you. To- 
morrow we will talk more of this.” 

He kissed her tenderly, shook hands with 
Mrs. Sweeton, and thanked her for coming. 


314 


Mopsy. 


and then, leaning on the Captain’s arm, 
went slowly to his room. 

An hour later his bell rang, and all feared 
another attack ; but it was not so. He was 
rested now, and would like to have Netta 
and the Captain sit with him and tell him 
more about those precious children. 

They went to him, and found him looking 
better than he had done. 

“ It might have been worse,” he said. 
“ But the dear child should have written ; 
even one line from her would be precious. 
Did you mention something about a letter ? ” 
“ Yes ; I have one here. When our 
dear young friend found herself dying she 
wrote it, and intrusted it to Mrs. Gaffney, 
her landlady, who lost it, or rather had it 
taken from her by her husband ; it has 
cost many weeks of labor to find any clew 
to that letter. A short time since I gave 
it up for lost ; but, this week, I received a 
letter from a man in Connecticut, the ob- 
ject of my long search. It was found in 


The Mystery Solved, 315 

picking over some rags at a paper-mill, 
and its pitiful story impressed the reader. 
The name was nearly erased ; but in one 
corner was written, ‘ I intrust this to Mrs. 
Mary Gaffney, of Endicott Street, Boston.* 
The person who found it read it to a 
clerk, who put it away, and forgot it en- 
tirely, until he chanced to see my name 
as executor of the estate of Mary Gaffney 
attached to the usual notice in the papers. 
The name of the person to whom the let- 
ter was addressed does not appear within, 
as you see, and the direction is partly 
obliterated ; one who had seen it could 
understand it.” 

The judge took the torn and worn sheet 
into his hand as some men might caress a 
child. When lights were brought and his 
glasses given him they bade him good- 
night anc went away. 

The Captain was the first to greet him 
the next morning, and he was astonished 
to see him so cheerful. His amazement 


3 1 6 Mopsy, 

was observable, for the judge made haste 
to say, — 

“You thought the shame would over- 
come me, my friend. I shall put it behind 
me, and live, I trust, to make these dear 
children very happy. There is one thing. 
Brown, I want done, and that is to shield 
the woman who bears my name. It was 
a cruel sin, and the innocent victim is be- 
yond it all ; for myself, I shall always re- 
member that she is Harry’s mother.” 

A few days later his words came back 
to the Captain with deeper meaning. 

“ I want more than ever to do some- 
thing for Miss Howard, and you must help 
me. Brown ; she seems quite like one of 
ourselves.” 

“ She is, indeed. Judge.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Only this, that in trying to find a dear 
relative of my own I found several for you. 
Your sister’s child was sent to a convent, 
and did not die, as you supposed. She 


The Mystery Solved. 317 

married an army officer, who was drowned- 
when the Nina Belle was burned near 
Natchez. Mrs. Howard is that niece, and 
her helplessness was caused by the shock 
and injuries sustained at the time of the 
accident.” 

“ Stop one moment, Brown ; let me think. 
She was kept entirely under the care of 
the sisters, was she not ? ” 

“ For many years. Her father never 
mentioned her mother to her, and she 
had been kept in ignorance concerning her 
relatives. I found out something about 
her father’s affairs ; he was quite wealthy, 
and his brothers settled the estate to suit 
themselves. During my numerous and 
suspicious journeys I was collecting facts. 
In a short time Mrs. Howard will receive 
about thirty thousand dollars which is her 
just due. The uncles opposed the mar- 
riage with Colonel Howard, and an es- 
trangement was the result.” 

“ How did she get into that locality?” 


Mopsy. 


318 

“ By the merest accident. The steward- 
ess of the boat was saved. She was much 
attached to the party, and proposed that 
they should come to Boston, as she had a 
sister here. Mrs. Howard was anxious to 
have her children receive a New England 
education, and in her weak and suffering 
condition she was glad to resign herself 
and children to the care of this woman. 
The sister lived in Mrs. Gaffney’s house. 
She has since moved West, where the 
stewardess has joined her. Mrs. Howard’s 
injuries proved so serious that she has never 
been moved until now, and her small pension 
has only kept them from actual want.” 

“ And this long, -weary search you have 
kept up all alone. Brown?” said the judge. 
“Why did you not tell me before?” 

“ I have been cruelly disappointed my- 
self, and I wished to spare you that pain. 
We both have enough to endure.” 

“ But you did not find out about Isa 
until Netta began the search?” 


The Mystery Solved. 319 

“ Something, but not all. Miss How- 
ard found the right end of the tangle 
among the Berkshire Hills.” 

“ Mr. Brown, it was here in this very 
house. I had a letter to-day. Harry’s 
mother will sail for home in the Caledonia 
the 3d of September.” 

Captain Brown did not reply. 


y 


320 


Mopsy. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

ANOTHER CORNER OF THE KINGDOM. 

Pound, pound! hammer, hammer! all day 
long at the little farm among the Berkshires. 

“ What under the canopy are those city 
folks doing up there?” asked an old farmer 
of Hannah Sweeton, who was coming down 
the avenue to the river-bank. 

“Well, as far as I know, they are havin’ 
a jubilee.” 

“ But the buildings, I mean ? ” 

“ Oh, the buildings I Well, the house is 
being enlarged for Mrs. Howard, and the 
new barn is for. some hay and stock.” 

“ Ain’t the fine-lookin’ old gentleman 
with the smilin’ face and white hair Judge 
Hunt from Boston ? ” 

“ Yes ; and there’s everlastin’ goodness 
’nough in him to make a whole jury of” — 


Another Corner of the Kingdom 321 

“ I seen him once down there to a trial ; 
he looks like the world went easy with 
him.” 

“You never heard of looks bein’ deceit- 
ful, have you ? ” 

“ Well, yes ; but who’s the other chap, 
who gets such a sight of comfort lying 
down the river there in a boat a- reading 
books ? ” 

“ Job Cheeney, ef you want the history 
of them folks up there you better go right 
up an’ ask ’em. I hain’t got any time to 
waste on yer now, fer them children are all 
wanted to come up to the house at once.” 

Hannah Sweeton hurried on to the river- 
bank, and called loudly, “ Natty ! Natty ! ” 

In a few moments the boy appeared, 
climbing the steep bank with a large 
bunch of flowers in his hand. He was 
followed by three or four others likewise 
burdened. 

“Didn’t we get a lot, though?” 
claimed Tishy. 


ex- 


322 


Mopsy. 


“ I sha’n’t put all mine in the Boston 
box for the flower mission, ’cause I want 
uncle to have the very bestest ones.” 

“Land sake!” said Hannah Sweeton, as 
she looked at them ; “ how did them city 
folks ever come to think of a ‘ country 
week ’ for those poor things ? I declare 
it’s enough to make you laugh and cry all 
to once to see ’em so crazy over the flow- 
ers ; an’ Miss Howard, she will keep havin’ 
’em come, — two this week and two next, 
and so on. I expect we shall have half 
Boston running over our pastures after a 
while. Run right home, now, children. 
Mrs. Howard said I was to tell you ; and 
now I better step right smart myself, or 
dad will miss his milk biscuit for supper.” 

Can we frame the picture of the home- 
life among those glorious hills in any form 
more simple and natural than the words 
of Hannah Sweeton ? 

Dad’s biscuits were made snowy inside 
and brown without, and dad was eating 


Another Corner of the Kingdom. 323 

them with generous slices of new sweet 
butter spread upon them, as he asked, — 
“ Well, Manner, what are the city folks 
up to now ? Got any more of them little 
starved-out children ? ” 

“ Two more come to-day, dad, an’ it 
would do your heart good to see ’em.” 

“ Yes, jes’ so ; it’s curious to see ’em 
walk all round a flower for fear of steppin’ 
on it, and one of them boys will watch a 
pig or a steer for twenty minutes on a 
stretch.” 

“Why shouldn’t they, dad? A steer ’s 
a big curiosity to ’em as Barnum’s great- 
est furrin animal ; but I must tell ye about 
the time up to the farm to-day. You see, 
the judge, he set out to surprise Mrs. 
Howard and her daughter, and the first 
he knew he was the most surprised man 
you ever see in all your life. Most of 
his folks is dead, and the Captain, he 
hunted up and found out that Mrs. Howard 
was the judge’s own niece, and they wouldn’t 


324 


Mopsy. 


let it out until it was her birthday, — that’s 
to-day; and that’s why they asked me up 
to kind of help ’round the dinner ; so she 
wouldn’t suspect nothin’. Miss Netta, she 
was a-trimmin’ up for her ma’s birthday, 
and the folks was over from Cliff Cottage, 
with little Bessie, and they were havin’ a 
splendid time. You see, that little sick 
fellow, Jamsie, he’s been pickin’ up ever 
since his uncle got that pony for him, and 
the whole of ’em thought nothin’ more 
good could happen ; but the Captain’s bin 
very uneasy, a-goin’ into Boston and all 
that, and givin’ me ever so many boxes and 
things to hide away, and Mrs. Harry, she 
had made a white muslin dress for Miss 
Netta, all unknown to her, for her ma’s 
birthday, and then she had sent me a beau- 
tiful desk and some books for Mrs. Howard, 
and everybody was so brimful of pleasure, 
there didn’t seem to be room for no more.” 

“ Easy to be good-natured and happy if 
you have plenty of money, Hanner.” 


Another Corner of the Kingdom. 325 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, dad ! Why, money 
can’t make you strong and well, or save 
you from dying ! I tell you, those folks 
over there make you think of something 
besides money.” 

“ Well, go on. Manner. I suppose the 
dinner was tip-top.” 

“ Yes ; you couldn’t eat one half. You 
see, the judge came over from the Cliff, and 
said it was his right, as the oldest member, 
to take charge of the birthday entertain- 
ment; and they all agreed; but, bless you! 
they never dreamed what was cornin’.” 

“ Well, get round to it when you can. 
Manner.” 

“ I will, dad, if you won’t break in so 
often. Well, they had all eaten their ice- 
cream and their sherbet ” — 

“For massy sake! what’s sherbet?” 

“ Now, dad, there you are again ! They 
had all eaten their ice-cream and frozen 
colored water, when the judge he got up, 
and told ’em all how he had lost his eld- 


326 


Mopsy, 


est sister, and how after all these years he 
had found her child, and how happy he 
was about it ; and they all looked at Jamsie 
and Tishy; but they was his niece’s chil- 
dren. Well, they sort of wondered a while, 
and then he went round and he took Mrs. 
Howard’s face between his hands and 
kissed her right there and then. She was 
awfully s’prised, and you oughter hev seen 
Miss Netta when she found out that it 
was all true. I thought she would never 
stop cry in’ and laughin’, and the judge 
took her right in his arms like she was a 
baby. Natty was so wild he screamed 
until he was hoarse, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Harry were so tickled they kept shakin’ 
hands with everybody. I never expect to 
see such a sight again — never. I kind of 
pitied the Captain. He walked away, and 
looked out of the window, until Miss Netta, 
she see him and brought him up before 
them all, and sez she, ‘ This is the good 
genius who brought us all our happiness ; ’ 


Another Corner of the Kingdom. 327 

and the judge, he took hold of him, and 
sez he, ‘ Brown, I wish I could find a few 
such relatives for you as you’ve done for 
me. Why, I am the happiest man in all 
Massachusetts ! ’ The Captain couldn’t 
speak for a moment, and then sez he, 
‘ Uncle, I shall be compelled to introduce 
myself as John Brown Hunt, Jr.’” 

“ What yer cryin’ fer, Manner ? ” 

“ I ain’t cryin’ egsactly, dad, but I can’t 
think of it without wantin’ to; for you see 
it was a kind of a resurrection day, and I 
don’t think one of ’em can be happier 
when they get to heaven. There was the 
poor Captain, who has been a wanderer, 
he says, for years and years, workin’ and 
workin’ to do some good while he was 
huntin’ for his poor sister, and he a-know- 
ing his uncle all the time after that night 
in the Public Garden, and never speakin’ 
of it ; and there was Mrs. Howard livin’ 
such a hard life, and Miss Netta goin’ on, 
on, on, workin’ for them boarders, beside 


328 


Mopsy. 


poor little Jamsie, half dead, and no mother 
to care for him, and it all cornin’ out so 
beautiful just through doin’ little things for 
others ; and there was Jim Lahey, a poor 
Irish boy once, now dressed as nice as our 
minister, and Inky and his mother and all 
of ’em — why, dad, it makes me feel kind 
of mean to think of us just workin’ and 
workin’ for our own two selves and Jim ! 
You see, when they got over the surprise 
a little, and the judge had cried over the 
Captain like a woman over her dead baby, 
Miss Netta, she got up and she said she 
wanted to give every cent of Mrs. Gaff- 
ney’s money to the Industrial Home in 
Boston to help other boys and girls so 
they could help themselves ; and then Mr. 
Harry said the executor would have some- 
thing to say about that, and the Captain 
said it was all her own to do as she 
pleased with. O dad, I couldn’t tell the 
best part of it if I talked all night ! And I 
haven’t said one word about our part. You 


Another Corner of the Kingdom, 329 

see, when I was cornin’ off, the Captain, 
he said he owed Jim a little something 
for taking down so many flower-boxes to 
the mission ; so he gave me a twenty- 
dollar gold-piece to buy a wedding-present 
for Jim ; and when I told ’em they would 
be married this fall, and come up here and 
go to housekeepin’ in the other side of 
our house, every one of ’em said they 
would come over and help fit the rooms 
all up ; and, dad, here we’ve been a-talkin’ 
all our days about stuck-up city folks, and 
they a-doin’ more goodness than we ever 
thought of in our whole lives. It kind of 
makes me feel ashamed to say my prayers.” 

Dad rose slowly, and took down his 
milk- pails. When he reached the door he 
turned around to say, — 

“ Manner, I’ve allers stood out about 
havin’ any of those poor children come up 
here; but if it would make you feel hap- 
pier, why, we might take a couple of ’em 
for a week or two ; there ain’t no call for 


330 


Mopsy, 


us two to use sixty acres of land all to 
once, and they can’t wear it out none.” 

For the first time since Jim was a wee 
baby lying on her arm Hannah Sweeton 
reached up to her husband’s brown, rug- 
ged face and kissed him ; and at that very 
moment Captain Hunt was saying, — 

“ I was right. One corner of the king- 
dom of heaven was at the North End.” 

“ It is within us,” said Mrs. Howard. 

“ And Jamsie’s tangles are no more,” 
said Netta, as she patted the boy’s flushed 
cheek. 

Over at Cliff Cottage Harry Hunt was 
lying on the porch settee, with his head 
in his wife’s lap. He was looking into her 
eyes as she gently stroked his hair, but 
her thoughts were far away in the future. 

“ Puss,” said her husband. 

“ Yes, dear?” 

“ Whenever you want me to go out and 
hang myself for being such a brute to 
you, just mention it.” 


Another Comer of th'e Kitigdom. 331 

“ Harry!” was the response, in a tone of 
surprise. 

“ I mean it. I don’t think any man in- 
tends to be a bad husband ; but our false, 
hurried, artificial life in the city makes us 
all more or less selfish and exacting.” 

“You have been charming since you 
came here, Harry ; it has seemed like an- 
other world.” 

“ Children,” said Judge Hunt, coming 
to them through the open window, “ the 
Caledonia is lost, and all on board.” 

They turned to look at him ; but he 
had dropped the evening paper, and had 
gone within. 

After all, she was Harry’s mother. 



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